


In The Still Of The Night

by CLADD



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CLADD/pseuds/CLADD
Summary: Spending his days leading the Saviors and overseeing every tedious aspect of running his community of survivors, Negan finds himself unable to relax when he finally gets a respite late in the evenings. Pacing his room and wandering his compound night after night in lieu of tossing and turning in bed, he discovers the isolated lair of the factory’s newest resident with the gorgeous green eyes.When she assumes he is one of the Sanctuary's lieutenants, instead of the man in charge, Negan doesn't correct her, wondering if she would still be interested in spending time with him if she knew the man he really was.
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 36





	1. But The Party's Just Getting Started

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story has been rolling around in my mind for a few months, so I thought I would post a chapter or two while I'm still working on Tiny Dancer and see what you guys think about it.

The two men were up in arms, ready to protect their turf and their goods. A lanky blonde man was brandishing a Baretta pointed in their direction, a stocky, balding man holding a hand grenade. The deadly device was in one hand, fingers firmly wrapped around the safety lever to keep it in place, while the pin dangled from the metal ring which was pinched between the thumb and index finger of his other hand. He moved the ring out in front of his body, jiggling it to be sure Negan, Arat and the rest of their crew could see they were at his mercy. If the asshole released the lever and tossed the grenade, they would all be dust in less than five seconds, along with the food and other goods they could see piled in the corners of the barn. Negan was sure these assholes didn’t intend to take their own lives and the man’s bravado was all for show. It was a scare tactic any fucking idiot could see through. 

“Easy there, partner,” he murmured with a friendly smile, keeping eye contact with baldy. While he would have loved nothing more than to take the asshole out with his Glock, the pin needed to be positioned safely back in the grenade before he took his shot, so they could all live to see another day. He also needed a good look at the third member of their little trio before he showed any aggression, a woman who was standing two feet behind Baldy, half hidden in the shadows. He wasn’t going to make a move on the men without knowing what type of mini arsenal she had at her disposal to catch them all off guard. It was strange she was standing behind them, instead of beside them to help pose a more unified threat. 

Negan and his Saviors had been scavenging, looking for anything useful to take back to the Sanctuary, an old factory they and a hundred and three other survivors called home. After scouring local maps to find housing developments and businesses they had yet to search, he and three of his people had driven to the outskirts of Manassas to a whistle stop town which had a chance of being intact due to its locale. It was off the beaten path, with one road leading in and out. It was miles from major highways, or even routes to other small towns. They had been hoping it would be abandoned and ripe for the picking, six months into the apocalypse. The town was empty of any visible living and dead, and unfortunately it was also void of anything useful as well. The houses and businesses were empty, they now knew, because anything and everything of value was stacked in the stalls of the barn they were standing in. 

When he and his people had been just about ready to give up on finding anything, and had decided to head home, they’d spotted the bright red barn sitting in the middle of several acres of overgrown farm land, the companion to a large, two story house. The dwelling had a dozen or so dead ones roaming inside it, suggesting more than one family had holed up inside, but had either succumbed to the deadly virus which had killed most of the population or had been food for those who had died before them. Since the farmhouse roamers weren’t recently turned, the two horses grazing in an overgrown, fenced in pasture had been like a neon sign, pointing out there were live humans somewhere on the property who might be worth adding to the ranks of the Saviors. There also might be items worth pilfering or negotiating for, depending on the temperament of their owner. 

___________ 

In Negan’s mind, the last half year had been divided into specific time frames which had marked his adjustment and then his progress once the world had gone to shit. He referred to the first four to eight weeks as the Fucking Chaos Period, when a deadly infection had spread like wildfire across the United States after decimating the population of Central and South America. It had been like a horror movie, watching the rapidly rising death toll on the news. Within a week of the first case being reported in the United States, people had started dropping like flies all around Negan, his middle-class neighborhood turning into a fucking roamer town in less than a month. He had coined the term roamer to describe his neighbors and the rest of the unfortunate assholes who had succumbed to the infection and died. In a creepy fucking twist on Darwin’s theory, they had come back to life, ambling aimlessly until they came upon live meat. The dead feasted on the living, using healthy bodies as fuel for energy, so they could roam until they found their next meal. 

He had lost his wife Lucille at the beginning of the apocalyptic nightmare, though she hadn’t died from the deadly mystery illness. She had already been in the hospital, suffering through her final days of a battle with cancer when the outbreak had started. She had died peacefully, for which he was grateful. He was also grateful she hadn’t had to experience what the world had turned into. 

He had not been prepared in the fucking least, when she’d come back from the dead, only minutes after she’d passed away. Thank God for the kid who’d come along and saved him from the job of putting Lucille down, by scrambling her brains with a fire extinguisher. He'd had the boy go into her room to do the job because he’d been grief stricken, too much of a pussy to do it himself. It had been his only and last moment of weakness since the world had ended, because he had quickly realized the weak didn’t fare well in hell. The new world was the ultimate example of natural fucking selection, and Negan had been determined, from the start, to come out on the top. 

Months two and three of the new world were the Survival Stage for Negan and the rest of those still breathing. He and his neighbors George and Marcia Louderman, from two doors down, had been the only living souls in the two hundred or more homes in his community. He and the young couple had kept to themselves while the population had slowly been extinguished, hopping the fences in the backyards between their homes every few days to check on each other. They had exchanged useful information, any and all tidbits they had learned about how to make their dangerous new life easier: knives slid more easily through ears or eyes or up under the jaw to pierce the brain. Tissue paper used for wrapping birthday and Christmas presents worked almost as well as toilet paper. Dumping a can of drained tuna into a jar of Mexican queso cheese dip didn’t taste half bad, sort of reminiscent of a Latino tuna casserole. 

The friendship had come to a screeching halt when Negan found out George and Marcia had started looting their neighbors’ pantries on the sly. They had cleared out food and anything else of value from the houses in the immediate vicinity. It had broken any trust he’d had in the couple when he started scavenging his neighboring homes and found the Loudermans had already taken everything worthwhile. Negan’s own plan had been to glean some necessities from the other homes to ramp up his own stock, leaving enough behind to deter his neighbors’ suspicion. They hadn’t been as smart, or they simply hadn’t given a flying fuck. Negan had entered home after home, to find the Loudermans had already blatantly dicked him the fuck over. It was obvious they’d amassed enough to fill their basement and hadn’t offered him as much as a stale saltine. 

After a week of not having seen hide nor hair of the couple, he’d snuck down to peek into the windows of the couple’s house. He had finally broken into the home, finding they had taken off in their pickup truck. They had left what they couldn’t fit in their vehicle, behind. At least the fuckers had made his life easy for him for a while. Despite his new stockpile, he’d felt pressed to build as much of a store of food and goods as possible, knowing resources were finite and he may not be the only one who might scavenge the neighborhood looking for them. 

The only living persons he had come in contact with since the world died had driven off in the middle of the night. He hadn’t realized the comfort he’d taken knowing the losers were a few doors away. Feeling alone and more than a little fucking vulnerable, Negan had set about ensuring his survival. He and his wife had only had one gun in their home-a hunting rifle. He also had a few hunting knives. 

He had moved his neighbor’s ample stash of goods into his own home, but the assholes had driven off with any weapons they might have found, leaving Negan fairly defenseless. He’d begun looting the homes a few blocks over for food, matches, batteries, and anything faintly resembling something he could defend himself with. His buddies obviously hadn’t ventured the two blocks before they had left. The entire time he’d wandered the area he hadn’t laid eyes on one person, live or dead. The quiet had slowly but surely started eating at him. He’d never felt so fucking lonely. 

Knowing it was only a matter of time before he would come across other survivors, the question had been whether they would be friend or foe. He knew the answer would hit him in the face at some point as well as the answer to the question of when he would be forced from his home to seek out food and safer shelter. 

The question had been answered four weeks later when his house and many of the others in his community had been set on fire one morning shortly before dawn, by marauders who had roared into the neighborhood in two pickup trucks and an SUV. Strangely, there had been no method to their madness, and they’d run through the neighborhood, storming into random houses. Luckily, they had missed the only one which was inhabited. Negan had known they wouldn’t find much, since everything was stacked in his garage and basement. The invaders had been enraged when they found the dwellings void of anything useful, and had begun torching every other house as they downed a bottle of whiskey they’d pulled out of one of their vehicles. 

Negan had left his home for the final time with the clothes on his back, a knife and Barretta hanging on his belt, and a small bag full of necessities. His pants, and belt with his weapons attached had been the first thing he put on every day. When he’d heard the commotion outside, he calmly rolled out of bed, pulled on his pants, belt and white tee shirt, stuffed his feet into his biker boots and put on his leather jacket, ready at a moment’s notice for whatever was to come. He had expected to have to defend his property and stash at some point. Peeking out from behind the curtains of his bedroom windows, he’d watched as one of the assholes had thrown a Molotov cocktail through one of his living room windows, below. In no time flames had been licking at the window where he stood, the incendiary device no doubt catching the curtains at the lower windows on fire. 

He had watched the fuckers party in the street as if they were at a bonfire on a goddamn beach. The noise and flames were drawing more roamers into the area, stupid fucks. Deciding they were too fucking stupid to last long in the apocalypse, there had been no point in trying to make nice with them. He grabbed the ruck sack full of food and other essentials he’d kept next to his bed in case he ever needed to make a clean getaway, and his Louisville Slugger, signed by Stan the Man Musial of the St Louis Cardinals. His father had grown up outside of St Louis, and the bat had been his most prized possession. He had passed it down to his son when Negan was ten years old. 

Negan had grabbed the bat in a moment of sentimentality, as his house had gone up in flames, and he’d been glad he had. His route to most of his weapons, and his larger stashes of survival gear had been quickly engulfed in flames. He’d escaped through a rear window with the sack, the two weapons on his belt and his beloved bat. 

He had stayed close, keeping himself in the shadows as the sun started to rise, watching the group pillaging his neighborhood. The fuckers had pulled a young man and woman out of a house halfway down the block. Negan had cursed his own negligence, not knowing the pair were in the home. He assumed they had made their way into the community in the few days before, searching for food and shelter. The assholes had dragged the two into the middle of the street as the homes had blazed around them and proceeded to shoot the man in the head before dragging the girl back toward their vehicles. 

Negan had fumed at the heinous act, knowing there was only one reason a handful of men wouldn’t want another able body to strengthen their numbers. They’d had warped fucking designs on the woman and they didn’t want her husband, or brother, or whoever the fuck he was, interfering. While his first instinct had been to head down the highway and forget what he’d seen, he had not been able to get the woman’s terrified expression out of his mind as he’d left his home behind. 

He had spent the day following smoke the men left in the wake of their destruction, cutting through woods and hidden pathways between two more communities the group had stopped to plunder, managing to stay out of their line of sight. Keeping his distance, he’d watched the five assholes work as they killed two other men they had came across. Luckily there had been no more women along their path. Their first pretty little prize had been tied, spread eagle, to the roof rack of their SUV. Negan had finally gotten a good look at the twenty something year old woman. She had beautiful eyes which had been full of both fear and rage as she’d fought her bindings, hoping to free herself while her captors were busy with their work. Her curly hair was mostly black, pulled up into a short ponytail on the top of her head, the tail itself bleached blonde, along with the ends of the tendrils which hung loose around her face. 

Luckily her captors hadn’t been deterred from their mission by the promise of fresh pussy, and obviously were waiting until they were settled somewhere for the night to enjoy their new possession. At community number three, Negan had waited until the men had split into two groups before he made his move, following two of the assholes into one of the homes,, where one had had headed upstairs, the other down. He had made quick work of them both with the most prized weapon in his possession. He had swung his bat from behind them, knocking them out before he’d stabbed them in the eye socket and moved across the street to kill the remaining three men. 

The five had been his first live kills since the end of the world. He had known his hand would be forced at some point; people got ugly when they became desperate, and he was living in desperate fucking times. He had no fucking patience for men who would rape a woman, so he’d had the perfect motivation to get his feet wet in exacting his own brand of justice. Murdering five men hadn’t phased him in the least. Their fate had been deserved, and he had been more than a little proud of himself for sneaking up on the fuckers and doing them all in without any struggle. 

“Your buddies won’t be needing your _company_ anymore,” Negan informed the young woman lying on the top of the truck as he sauntered up to her, his bloodied bat resting on his shoulder. He feigned disinterest in her and her panicked thrashing, not wanting her to think she’d escaped one fucking fire only to be shoved into another. 

“Hold still,” he’d commanded as he pulled his knife from his sheath. “I don’t wanna fucking hurt you.” He’d eyeballed the looted goods in the back of the SUV as he cut the ropes which bound her to the roof, using a flick of his razor sharp hunting knife. Opening the car door, he’d popped the hatch on the rear of the vehicle. Raising it, he’d taken a quick look inside before he announced, “I’ll be relieving you of this one!” Closing the back, he'd approached the driver’s seat door, justifying himself exuberantly, “Call it my fee for saving your fucking virtue!” 

Jumping down from the roof as her hero rambled at her, the woman had looked at him curiously when he’d walked by her and opened the car door, throwing his bag onto the passenger seat along with his bat. She had been shocked when he started the vehicle and drove away from her, cruising down the street and stopping in front of the last house she’d seen three of her kidnappers enter. 

When Negan had come out of the house, he had the men’s belts with their knives and handguns attached looped over his palm, the young woman had been pacing next to the SUV, obviously conflicted. “Hey, are you from around here?” she’d asked him hesitantly, “I mean, do you have a safe place around here?” 

He had smirked at her apparent inner turmoil before he’d responded, gesturing in the direction of his old neighborhood. “Not anymore. Your buddies torched my home before breakfast.” Tossing the belts and weapons on the front seat, he’d closed the car door and headed into the house across the street. Realizing the woman could make off with his new guns, Negan had turned around and jogged back to the SUV, pulling the keys out of the ignition and hitting the button on the key fob to lock the door. Then he jogged back towards the house with the last two dead pricks, knowing he would be back before she could break the window to get to the goods. 

“Seriously?” she had called behind him, shaking her head at his distrust, even though she couldn’t blame him. She was confused by his nonchalance. He had obviously killed her captors in order to save her. He could have killed the jerks, taken their stuff and left her tied to the top of the SUV as bait for the living dead. Instead he’d freed her. The stranger also could have left her tied up and claimed her for his own perverted pleasure. He obviously wasn’t going to do that either, seeming outright disinterested in her. Maybe he already had a group he belonged to, and they didn’t want any newbies? Or was he a loner? 

As she had pondered his intentions, the man had reemerged from the house, two more belts in one hand and a couple of rolled up magazines in the other. She was once again stymied as he’d thrown open the door and tossed his findings on the passenger seat quipping, “Well, it was nice meeting you, doll!” He had slammed his door shut and started the car once again, putting it into gear as she’d stared at him, speechless. 

Her savior had looked surprised and slightly annoyed when she’d run around to the front of the car when it had started moving, slamming both hands down on the hood, forcing him to hit the break peddle as her muffled, “Wait!” filtered through the window into the cab. 

The young woman moved to the driver’s side door, blurting out, “Do you want some company?” through the glass, worried he would take off and leave her there, alone. She hadn’t known why she was throwing herself at the mercy of this man, other than her fear of trying to make it on her own in their new world, and he obviously hadn’t had lecherous intentions since he’d been ready to take off without her. 

Hitting the button to lower the glass between them, Negan had questioned, “I don’t know, doll. Am I going to have to spend all my fucking time looking out for you? I don’t want to meet my fucking demise trying to save your ass for the tenth ... or hundredth fucking time...” He had been pleased she’d stopped him. It was getting old being alone all the time. And there was strength in numbers. 

“No!” she’d insisted, cutting across him. Smiling at his colorful tirade, she’d tried to convince him, “I’m actually pretty good at taking care of myself. I swear! Those guys just got the jump on us.” Her smile morphed into a frown as she remembered how her friend had been killed. 

She’d heard the click of the doors unlocking as he rolled his eyes at her, skeptical of her excuse. Running around to the passenger side, she’d thrown open the door and gently moved his loot to the floor before she hopped in. 

As he’d eased his foot down on the gas pedal, Negan was sure they were going to seriously fucking tussle when she had leaned forward and started messing with the weapons at her feet. Luckily, she had simply coiled the belts tightly and laid them back down, making room to stretch her legs out. 

“Can I have one?” The girl had been smart enough to simply gesture to the items on the floor. “Mine was stolen a few weeks ago.” 

_Can I have one?_ She'd sounded as if she was asking for a damn gumball. Negan chuckled at her innocence, knowing she was damn lucky she’d run into him, otherwise she wouldn’t have been long for the world. He’d also known in that moment he could trust her. If not, he would have been lying on the side of the road with a bullet in his head, while she drove off with an SUV full of weapons and goods. “We’ll see.” He’d placated her with the idea he would consider arming her if he deemed her worthy. The kicker was, she had nodded in acceptance of his mandate without question. 

Finally picking up the magazines he’d pilfered from the second house, she had unrolled them, chuckling when she read the titles, _Hustler_ and _Playboy_. “A little light reading?” she’d teased, flipping through the pages casually. 

“Nobody reads those things, doll,” he countered. 

“No kidding,” she’d responded sarcastically. 

“Hey, a guy can get lonely in this big old empty fucking world,” he’d informed her in a matter of fact tone when she raised an eyebrow at his choice of entertainment. “You can’t begrudge a guy a little quality, me time.” 

“No, I can’t,” she had agreed, not phased in the least by the nature of their conversation. Rotating the magazine and unfolding the middle pages to see the entire three-page centerfold spread, she questioned hopefully, humming approvingly at the sexy photo. “Will you share?”. 

“Ahhh, so you bat for the women’s team?” Negan had raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I bat for both teams,” she’d informed him matter of fact. “But I gotta tell you, the men’s team has gone to hell since the world came crashing down. Bunch of abusers and rapists. And now that the weather’s getting warmer? I’d take unbathed pussy over stinking male ass any day!” 

Negan had laughed loudly before he inquired, “What’s your name, kid?” She may be twenty something, but she looked like a kid to him. He wondered what she’d seen and done in the last several months which would lead her to disparage men so aggressively. 

“I’m Arat.” 

“Negan.” 

_________ 

Stage three in the aftermath of the twenty first century plague had been the Pied Piper Period. The two new comrades had taken to the road, hunting for the perfect, safe place to call home, hopefully for the long term. Sitting in the SUV which they had parked inconspicuously between two cars in a used car lot, they had brainstormed. It had been a new concept for Negan since he’d rarely bothered with other people’s opinions or input in his old life. Despite his ego, he wasn’t too cocky to admit the new world was a little fucking different than anything he’d been prepared for. It was also a little fucking disconcerting, and he’d found himself just a little bit more amenable to hearing his new charge out. 

He’d looked at Arat as his charge, because even though she was gun savvy, having grown up in the red state of Texas with three brothers in a home loaded with everything from handguns to assault weapons, she had still been green when it came to the ways of the world. And their new world was fucking ugly. She put on a tough façade, but he’d learned quickly she was soft around the edges. As stoic as she’d seemed to be after her young travel buddy had been killed by her kidnappers, he’d heard her crying as he’d drifted off to sleep while she was keeping watch their first night in the SUV. 

“You need me to keep watch while you fucking snot and sob?” he’d goaded her, his eyes still closed. “I don’t want my fucking throat slit while you’re busy expressing your fucking sorrow.” 

He’d heard her huff out a laugh in the quiet of night, before she’d responded, “I’m good.” The young man had been a friend from her apartment complex, she had confided later, and they’d looked after each other after things went to shit. They had made their way into Negan’s neighborhood after escaping from a large group of men and women who preyed on the weak. She had almost become fodder for their leader, which had been why they’d cut and run. 

Negan and Arat’s plan had been to move from place to place, looking people to add to their group. She had been glad she’d met up with her new … well, she really hadn’t known what to call him. She wouldn’t have called Negan her friend, since he’d made it abundantly clear, daily, she was second in line in their very limited pecking order because she wasn’t as smart or as experienced as he was. If she’d come across an asshole like him before the apocalypse, he would have been clutching his balls in agony after her swift kick in the nuts to remind him why he didn’t want to underestimate her. She had been content to ignore his arrogance, because she’d quickly found he was intelligent and shrewd, and she’d had no doubt he was astute enough to make his way in their very raw world. She had also felt insanely loyal to him for saving her from the scumbags who had obviously planned on making her their group sex toy. Interestingly, even though he could be downright obnoxious, she thought there was something endearing about him. 

On day four of their travels, Negan and Arat had stumbled on a one-story, mid-century motel and adjoining Italian restaurant. The individual guest rooms had seemed undisturbed, passersby likely assuming there would be little or nothing of use in them. The pair had sought out the vending machines, which they’d found in a breezeway between two different sections of the building. Unfortunately, they had already been cleared out of everything but black licorice twists, which had both amused and annoyed them. The pair had also left the candy behind, their food stores still ample enough to allow them to turn their nose up at the pungent, unappealing fare. 

The vending machines having been a bust, Negan and Arat had decided to hit the manager’s apartment before they checked out the restaurant. There were always apartments for the owner or manager of older motels, usually located near the reception area. Busting their way through the door behind the front desk, they’d covered each other as they'd started casing the living room and dining room area inside the door. Their eyes had immediately landed on a slim, dark haired man with a receding hairline and an unkempt, bushy mustache, who had a handgun aimed at Negan's head. He was seated at a dinette set which was as old as the motel, a forkful of pasta with red sauce resting on the edge of his plate and a large, half empty glass of red wine in one hand. After a thirty second standoff, the man had lowered his gun, assuming if they’d intended to off him, the girl would have pulled her trigger while he’d kept aim on her partner in crime. 

He hadn’t seemed disturbed by the break in, looking back and forth between the man and young woman before he raised his glass, inquiring amiably, “You like red? It’s all I’ve got.” He shook his head, putting a forkful of pasta in his mouth before he continued, “Besides a few bottles of rosé, but no one drinks that shit, right?” 

Negan hadn’t been quite sure if the man was crazy, or cunning, but after some back and forth he’d decided he was a little of both. Simon, as he’d introduced himself, was thrilled to finally have company he wouldn’t need to knife in the head. In the end Negan and Arat had joined him for the pasta marinara, which had been cooked over some propane burners. Arat had selflessly volunteered to drink the dreaded rosé, leaving the chianti to the men. 

Over the next several days, the threesome had formulated a new plan for recruiting new members into their group. “We need more people. People are a resource. We want to save the other lost fucking souls out there, Simon,” Negan had extolled to their new friend one night over cigars they’d found in the motel owner’s kitchen cabinet. “We’ll be the fucking saviors of the apocalypse, taking people in, giving them protection and shelter … well … when we find some fucking shelter. We’ll find just the right place to settle down and start our own community. We can raise livestock and grow shit to eat. We’ll be totally fucking self-sufficient!” 

“I hear you, Kemosabe,” Simon had agreed enthusiastically, “I’m with you, one hundred percent. I am the Tonto to your Lone Ranger!” 

Arat had been a little miffed she hadn’t been offered the moniker of Tonto, since she’d met Negan first. She’d been placated by the fact their self-appointed leader still seemed to confer with her most often to formulate plans. She and Negan were much more simpatico, whereas Simon’s mind tended to run on a different, less sane and slightly more violent track than his two cohorts. Arat was the head of their tiny group’s planning committee, while Simon was added brawn, notwithstanding his wiry frame. 

Negan had made it clear early on, when he’d noticed Simon repeatedly leering at Arat’s tits and ass, he’d better keep his eyes in his fucking head and his hands to his fucking self. Slapping the man on the back of the head with just enough force to make his point, he’d warned him, “Don’t even fucking think about it Tonto. I’ll fucking scalp you where you stand.” 

“I hear you, boss man. You don’t have to tell me twice.” 

“That’s a good fucking thing, Simon,” Negan had informed him in all seriousness, “because I won’t tell you twice. I’ll simply bash your head in if I catch you making any unwanted advances. He’d taken an exaggerated swing with the beloved bat he always carried with him, pretending to knock a baseball out of the park and watch it fly high into the sky. 

The trio had moved from place to place during their quest for a new home, adding new people to their group as they came across them. Negan would charm people with the idea they would all be safer if they stuck together. Once his numbers had increased to thirty or so people, the leader started to segregate them into a hierarchy. Those who were physically strong and those who followed the big boss’s orders without pause enjoyed special privileges, while the weak and those who had no skills to offer, sank to the bottom. Negan himself was perched at the top of the shit heap, and it was clear to all he didn’t share his perch. Arat and Simon were Negan’s right and left hands, who were next in succession in the pecking order. New recruits Fat Joseph, Regina, Keno, Little Timmy and Laura were on a tier below them, all having specific strengths which were appealing to their leader. Negan had never been sexist, so women and men were valued equally, as long as they had a skillset which served a purpose. 

Everyone else were delegated to the bottom of the trash heap. The women at the bottom of the heap had one advantage, at least in Negan’s mind, over those women in the higher levels. The man in charge never messed with the women in the upper tiers of his command when he was looking for companionship, but he sought the company of the bottom of the tier when there had been downtime. A pretty little redhead named Frankie caught his eye the first day she had been brought into the fold, and within a few days the leader had seduced her, tired of rubbing one out with his dog-eared copies of his girly magazines. The leader offered her first-class protection if she would come whenever he called. Frankie had been more than willing to play with the big boss, so come she did, in more ways than one. 

Stage four, or the Settlement Stage occurred next in the succession of Negan’s personal post-apocalyptic eras. When their group had grown to over thirty men, women and children, Skinny Joseph, the human GPS, had suggested a steel fabrication factory, located a few miles away might be worth considering for their home base. Since the group already had a Joseph who happened to be chubby, when the second Joe had become part of their wandering faction, the leader had started differentiating between the two men by referring to them by size. Skinny’s grandfather had worked at the factory and had taken little Joey on a tour of the plant when he was eleven. “The compound was huge, the entire thing fenced in. There were mountains of goods like rolled fencing, fence posts, rolled barbed wire, pieces-parts, support beams and shoring, stacked high in their warehouses,” Skinny had described in detail. 

“Pieces-parts?” Negan had questioned, one eyebrow raised at the unfamiliar term. 

“You know, machine fittings, screws, nails, bolts, stuff like that,” Skinny had explained. 

The moment the leader had laid eyes on the exterior of the building, he knew it was his new home. The place had been unblemished. Upon inspection of the perimeter, they found the fencing and gate intact, other than a small section which had been cut open for someone, or perhaps several someones to get inside. It had taken very little work to fully secure themselves inside the fence, and they had finally been able to relax. After months of moving from place to place and being vulnerable to hoards of the dead or confrontations with groups of undesirables, the utilitarian factory had seemed like heaven on earth. 

When they’d made their way inside the main building, there were no dead to be found, only one elderly gentleman and his dog who’d taken up residence in the massive structure. Why the man had chosen the location, Negan couldn’t have guessed. At first the squatter had seemed afraid of the group invading his home, but since the old man was no threat to them, the leader had charmed the pants off him and his dog, assuring the gentleman he’d be better off with the group’s protection. Q-Tip and his toy poodle Killer were similar in looks, both long and lean with fluffy white hair, and the taller of the two seemed relieved to finally have company, telling Fat Joseph he’d known someone would eventually come along and find him. He had only hoped they’d be friendly. 

Trying to keep some semblance of order in their chaotic world, Negan had kept his hierarchy in place once inside the factory walls, leaving the lower echelon sleeping in different corners of one of the large, first-floor rooms of the building. Q-Tip had already staked out the corner of the room which afforded the best view of the rest of the space. It was also closest to an exit, in case he ever needed to make a quick escape. Negan and Arat had discussed dividing the space into some sort of cubicles, so people could have a modicum of privacy, and the furnace at one side of the room could be turned into a giant wood stove, come winter, to keep everyone warm. They had a handful of months to figure out how to convert and implement the heating system. 

After casing the building, the man in charge had claimed the largest of what used to be executive offices on one of the higher floors. The room had its own fireplace and bathroom, and windows on one side of the room afforded him some sunlight, some moonlight, and a view of the of the rest of the buildings in the complex, since none were more than a story or three tall. Living on one of the upper floors also insured his people would infrequently visit and aggravate the piss out of him. No one wanted to make the journey up ten flights of steps unless they absolutely had to. 

Negan’s lieutenants, as he’d begun calling them, along with Arat and Simon, had settled into rooms in the basement floor of building, which had been used as administrative offices when the factory was still operational. They had made quick work of moving out old furnishings, and finding more comfortable ones to replace them, as did their leader, several floors above them. 

Within a week, a system had been implemented for cooking, cleaning, scavenging supplies, and looking for new group members. The residents of the factory floor filled the different in-house, grunt work positions. The lieutenants were responsible for scavenging and bringing in new people. Negan usually accompanied his people on runs outside of the compound, leaving one or more of his higher ups behind to keep an eye on things at home. 

Everyone was put to work, except for Frankie. It was made clear, early on, she needed to be available at all hours of the day or night, solely for Negan’s pleasure, a “job” she seemed to enjoy quite a bit. 

Within six months the Saviors, as Negan had officially named his fold, had handpicked more than seventy new members, and had amassed a stockpile of weapons, food, furnishings and other useful goods. Much to Frankie’s chagrin, the leader of the group had also handpicked two more women for his own personal collection, Annie and Betsy. One month later he had added Brendi to his cock squad. His latest conquest’s real name was Brenda, but since he had a theme going, he wanted to stick with it, nicknaming her accordingly. 

When his first draft pick had voiced her discontent to the big boss over his liberal relationship policies, Negan had very succinctly informed her, “Get the fuck over it,” to which Frankie had had no come back. She knew she had nothing to complain about. She got first pick of any new clothing and lingerie which came through the factory’s doors, along with first pick of any new goods. She also got more than her fair share of daddy love, whenever the boss had an hour or two to spare for her. The frequency of Negan’s visits didn’t seem to suffer when he took on the two new women, and Frankie took great pride in the fact she seemed to be the leader’s favorite, garnering the most personal visits from Negan, even if it was because he loved a good massage and she had been a licensed massage therapist before the turn. She would take any advantage she could get. 

__________ 

“You can’t just come in here and take our stuff!" baldy informed Negan, waving the grenade in his hand at the handful of strangers in front of him. “We’d rather go up with the place than give it up to you bastards!” 

The lanky asshole next to the grenade wielding bald one nodded his head in concurrence, scowling at the intruders. The leader of the Saviors studied the threesome in front of him, noting the third member of the group had subtly shifted from standing directly behind Baldy and was now positioned between the two men. Each time one of the men was distracted by their own talking, she would take a half step towards Lanky. Arat had noticed it as well. Negan’s number two was standing with half her body behind his, and the leader suddenly felt three fingertips on his back. The middle of the three pressure points lifted off of his spine, then back down, tapping to point out the woman he’d been eyeballing on the sly. The sneaky one had slowly repositioned herself so she was standing a foot behind her two buddies, in the space between them. 

“Hey, I get it!” Negan conceded exuberantly. “It must have taken you a long time to scavenge all this shit.” He used the tip of the bat to point to the large number of boxes of canned goods and other stockpiled items in the corner of the one of the barn’s stalls. “If I were you, I’d be protective of it, too!” 

He was babbling, trying to buy himself some time while he waited for Arat to signal him further, wondering if she’d noticed anything he hadn’t. A few seconds later a gentle tap of her finger along top edge of the weapons belt which rested a few inches below his waist, drew the leader’s eyes to each of the threesome’s waists nonchalantly as he babbled. While stocky and skinny had guns in holsters on their belts, along with knives in sheaths, the woman had no visible weapons. Something was fucking amiss with the picture in front of him. 

“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” the Savior lied smoothly. “Me and my people here can just head back down those steps and out the doors of this joint and drive away from this place. We’ll leave you and your shit in peace.” 

“Yeah, right!” Lanky returned skeptically. “You say you’ll go, but a little voice in my head is tellin’ me you’ll just come back later to try and steal the stuff!” 

“If you blow their heads off, they won’t be able to come back later, will they Bill?” 

Negan let his eyes drift from person to person in their group. While Bill and Baldy had the same crazy look in their eyes he’d seen once too often since the end of the world, the tawny haired woman behind them had something curious in her striking, almond shaped eyes. The color alone was enough to hold his attention, a smoky, light green infused with cool flecks of grayish blue which would catch the light when her slight movements would shift her out of the shadows and into the light. While her pals were bordering on mania, she was cool as a cucumber, her eyes not showing any stress or upset her small crew was outnumbered. On the contrary, what he finally recognized was definitive relief. 

The woman’s eyes had been focused on Arat as their little grenade-controlled hostage scene had played out, finally landing on him while the tiny fucking bravado brigade rambled on about how they would all be dead in a matter of seconds. Tawny’s lips started to move, though no words came out, and it took the Savior’s leader half a beat to realize she was mouthing, “Got this." 

Before he could figure out what the fuck she was talking about, her hands shot forward, grabbing Baldy’s Baretta from his holster and Bill’s knuckle duster from its sheath. Before Laurel and Hardy knew what was happening, she had racked the Glock, readying it to fire, and had it pressed it to the bald guy’s temple. Her other hand pressed the blade of the knife against his counterpart's carotid artery. 

The second the woman had gained the upper hand, Arat gave a quick tut-tut of her tongue, signaling Negan and the other Saviors to stay still and wait for further instruction. The order was meant to keep them from firing their drawn weapons in response to the unexpected act. It was even more so meant to save the impulsive, green eyed woman’s ass. The leader trusted his right hand’s judgement implicitly, so he casually rested his girl Lucille on his shoulder, knowing his people would be eyeing his demeanor for confirmation of her order. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Sage?” Baldy questioned, trying to turn his head to glare at the woman behind him. 

“Don’t move, John, other than to put the pin back into that goddamn grenade,” the woman ordered smoothly, pushing his head back to face his proposed task with the muzzle of her gun. 

“All right, all right! Jesus!” 

It was clear to Negan, John was just as surprised as he was at the delightful turn of events. The man began to fumble with the metal ring in his hand, shifting his grip from the ring to the pin attached to it, so he could follow her instructions. The leader was content to watch the fascinating little scene play out, since his new friend Sage was doing his men's’ dirty work for them. He hadn't quite figured out was going through her cunning little mind, so he was glad his group still had their guns aimed and ready. 

The new gal in charge turned her attention to asshole number two, ordering calmly, “Bill, put your gun back in your holster. And try not to listen when the stupid little voice in your head tells you to make a play to try and get yourself out of this situation. You didn’t even undo the safety, you moron, so if you make the wrong move, I’ll slit your throat before you even have a chance to switch it off.” 

Negan was enjoying every word coming out of Sage’s mouth, chuckling audibly at the idiot’s oversight. “Damn, Bill!” he admonished. “Get your shit together, man!” 

Ignoring the remark, the woman instructed, “Hands in the air,” the second Lanky’s gun was in his holster. Making eye contact with Arat while she kept her weapons in positions to inflict damage, she cocked her head towards Baldy, instructing, “Cover him, please?” Negan found himself sporting a serious fucking crush on Sage and her spunky fucking fortitude. 

“What the fuck?” John questioned between gritted teeth. “You goddamn bitch! I should have killed you while I had the chance!” 

The boss was amused when Sage huffed out a sarcastic laugh in response, her eyes following Arat as she stepped out from behind her boss, giving him a quick glance as she started to raise her Ruger. Negan gave her a slight nod, prompting her to aim the gun at Baldy’s head. The silent exchange didn’t go unnoticed by Wonder Woman, who looked back and forth between them so she wouldn’t miss any further communication. 

Baldy had finished his task as well, and it was comical how quickly both men scrambled to raise their hands. While they moved, Sage relieved Bill of his handgun. She moved with speed and precision, first placing the grip of the knuckle duster between her teeth so she could switch the safety off on his gun and bring it back up to the back of his head. Tucking the gun she’d been holding on John into her waistband, she reached up in front of her and removed the grenade from his hand. Turning her eyes to Negan she ordered coolly, “You should go.” Motioning toward the barn door with a jerk of her head, she added, “Now.” 

“Really?” Negan responded, his tone dripping with melodramatic disappointment. “Now, why would we wanna leave when this party is just getting started? We could whip up some jello shots ...” 

Keeping eye contact, Sage cut across him, countering, “Because it will take me less than a second to drop this gun and pull the pin on this grenade. The four seconds it will take for it to detonate won’t be enough time for you and your friends to get clear of the barn. I really don’t want things to play out that way, since you and yours have been kind enough to help me out of an ugly predicament, but if you insist on sticking around for this party, I can’t guarantee you’ll make it out alive.” 

Whereas Negan had known full well the big bald asshole had had no real intention of blowing them all to bits, he could sense the cool fucking cucumber in front of him had the cajones to make good on her threat. Running his tongue between his teeth, he mouthed a frisky little, “Ooh,” at her to let her know he liked her style, and then turned to his group. “You heard her, people! Get your asses out of here!” 

Keeping his eyes on the woman holding the grenade, he watched his people start to make their way towards the barn’s open doors, then chastised one of his lieutenants, “Hey, Keno! Don’t be a douche. Ladies first when the building might fucking explode!” 

Sage raised one eyebrow at his chivalry, refocusing on her task at hand when Bill shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. 

As the rest of the Saviors made haste to exit the building, Arat spoke into the quiet, “You got this covered?” asking the woman if she should go, or whether her help would be needed. It was obvious things weren’t going to end well for Bill and John, and judging by the contempt radiating off their captor, it wasn’t going to be pretty. 

The woman’s face softened at the Savior’s question, and she held up her index finger in response before maneuvering the slim grenade down her shirt and into the front of her bra, between her ample breasts. She then grabbed the second handgun from her waistband and aimed it at John’s head. “Thanks, friend,” she gave Arat a smile and a nod. 

Negan’s second looked at him, waiting for him to turn to follow her outside, but her boss still had his eyes locked on the gun slinger. They finally shifted to the goods stacked in a few of the stalls, wondering if he would get the chance to steal some or all of them. 

When green eyes caught him eyeballing the stockpile in the corner, the trace of the smile she’d given Arat disappeared from her lips. “Get. _Out!_ ” she shouted, agitated he would waste her time when she had a serious grudge to settle. 

Cocking his head at her and opening his arms wide in resignation, he finally turned and headed quickly towards the exit, catching up to Arat. As they crossed the threshold, they heard an unmistakable, “Get on your knees!” 

“Woman after my own fucking heart,” Negan murmured out of the side of his mouth making his right hand giggle softly. 

Bill, apparently, wasn’t happy with the edict, responding with a vicious, “You fucking cunt!” 

The leader and his side kick both paused at the sounds of a scuffle behind them, looking at each other as if to ask, “Should we go back in and help?” 

Their question was answered for them as they exited the building, when the sound of two gunshots rang through the air, one after the other, and John’s agonized voice swore, “You goddamn bitch! Fuck you!” 

From somewhere behind them they heard a warning, obviously aimed at them. “Hit the deck!” 

“Oh, no, she didn’t ...” Arat’s eyes widened in realization. Before she finished her sentence, Negan grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the building as fast as his long legs could sprint.


	2. Little Red Wagon

The grenade’s explosion rumbled beneath Negan and Arat’s feet, rolling up from behind them and passing them as they ran at top speed, trying to get as far from the barn as possible before the violent surge full of shrapnel, pieces of the barn and chunks of the people inside hit their backs. The rest of the Saviors, gathered by their trucks, ducked. Covering their heads, they watched Negan and Arat try to dive to the ground. The pair flew forward through the air, landing on their stomachs as the blast wave pushed them further and more forcefully than they would have been able to dive on their own.

The minute the wave receded, Negan’s people ran to check on him and their friend. Rolling over on his back, the leader wheezed and gasped, trying to catch the breath which had been knocked out of him when he’d hit the dirt. The Saviors knew he wasn’t seriously injured when he managed to spew out a hearty, “Son of a fucking bitch!” 

Arat was moaning from her spot on the ground ten feet behind him. “You alright, Robin?” he called over his shoulder to her. After she had voiced her displeasure over the fact Simon had stolen the nickname Tonto, Negan had told her the Lone Ranger was kind of a pussy anyway, so she’d be better off being the Robin to his Batman. Getting to his feet, his legs felt like Jello as he made his way to her. 

“Something’s wrong with my leg,” she winced, trying to twist her calve so she could see the back of it. 

“Get the fuck out of the way!” Negan shifted into Papa bear mode, worried his charge might be seriously injured. He pushed Regina and Fat Joe out of the way, squatting next to her and sliding his hands beneath her thighs and shoulders to roll her onto her side. He could see the blood on the back of her torn jeans, and it wasn’t a small amount. “Shit! You’ve got a fucking chunk of the barn stuck in your calf.” Looking around at the other worried faces standing over them, he ordered, “Get fucking moving people! Put her ass in the truck. Make her comfortable. We need to get back to Carson!” 

“Let me take a look.” Out of nowhere, Sage pushed her way between two of the Saviors, kneeling next to Negan. She was covered in dirt, small chunks of debris stuck to her clothing and in her hair. “Move over,” she commanded between panting breaths, smacking the leader on his arm, practically pushing him out of her way. 

Negan could only assume she had called out her _‘Hit the deck!’_ warning from one of the barn’s other exits, or after high tailing it outside. Otherwise she would have been a goner. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking ....” he started, pulling his Glock from its holster, ready to take out the woman who was responsible for Arat’s injury. 

“Unless you have another medical professional in your group, I suggest you back off. Someone give me a knife,” she cut across him hurriedly, unfazed by the gun in her side. She held out one hand as she gently pushed on Arat’s hip with the other, murmuring, “Roll for me sweetheart,” guiding the injured woman onto her stomach. 

Thrown off by her calm in the face of his direct threat, Negan wasn’t fast enough in unsheathing his knife, so Keno placed the handle of his in the woman’s hand. She immediately placed it blade up at the bottom of the leg of Arat’s jeans, cutting the fabric upward and stopping at the back of her thigh. Spreading the cloth open, she prodded the area around the wound, trying to assess the damage without getting any more dirt or germs in the open flesh. 

“It didn’t hit any major bleeders, so we’ve got time. How far away is your place?” As she spoke, she lifted the bottom of the flannel shirt she was wearing over her tank top and looked down at her torso, searching with her fingers until she found a half in thick piece of rope which encircled her waist. Slicing through it with the knife, she worked quickly to wrap it around Arat’s calf and tie it above the wound, slicing off the extra length. “You have a doctor or nurse where you live?” She looked at the faces above her before finally turning to Negan for an answer. 

“A doctor,” Negan responded. The calm she exuded was reassuring, helping to ease his worry. 

“Perfect. This will stanch the flow of blood without cutting off too much circulation. The wood's not going to come out clean, since the edges are jagged, so it should be removed there to avoid as much bleeding as possible, and so it can be cleaned up and immediately stitched. She’ll be fine, assuming your doc has the equipment needed to do the job,” she added, as if she knew he needed the reassurance. “Your biggest worry will be keeping it from getting infected.” 

“All right people! You heard Nurse Ratched!” Negan bellowed, even though his people were all standing within six feet of him. “Let’s get Arat back to Carson!” The cluster of people surrounding the patient started to disperse as the Saviors headed to their vehicles. 

Keno approached, waiting for further instruction. Scanning the ground around the barn, Negan noted several intact cans of food. There were other supplies as well, still in one piece. He motioned for the lieutenant to follow him to stand a few feet away from the two women. Speaking lowly, he ordered, “Get her back to Carson. I’m going to stick around here and see if I can talk this gal out of some of what’s left of her supplies since she only has one mouth to feed now. Leave me the big truck, Fat Joseph, Regina and Little Timmy.” He walked back towards the twosome, standing behind Sage as she chatted with Arat. 

“Have someone put pressure where the knot is tied above the wound,” Sage instructed Arat before helping her roll onto her back. While she worked, she softly thanked her patient for her help with the jerks in the barn. “I’m sorry you got hurt in the fray.” The tawny haired woman sounded sincere. 

As she talked Sage rolled up one shirt sleeve, then the other, using Keno’s knife to slice through two more pieces of rope which were tied around her wrists. 

Arat frowned, watching the woman’s movements, quickly piecing together the rope around the woman’s waist and wrists had been binding which her captives had put in place. “Looks like it was worth it,” she responded to the apology, eyeing one of the pieces of rope her caregiver was rolling between her fingers. 

“I’m thanking my lucky stars right you guys showed up when you did. It couldn’t have been better timing,” she murmured, trying to keep the conversation between the two of them. “They had just started reworking my shackles, so they’d have easier access.” She shuddered at the thought, her empty hand unconsciously balling into a fist as she spoke. “This sorry world will be a safer place without those two.” As an afterthought she added, “You probably caught it already, but my name is Sage. You’re Robin?” 

“That’s just a nickname,” the Savior smiled. “I’m Arat.” 

Negan eavesdropped on the exchange between the two women, furious at the thought of what the men would have gotten away with if his group hadn’t arrived in the nick of time. The gunshot wounds and a grenade were too easy on them, in his mind. After watching Keno help Arat into one of the pickup trucks the leader turned to look for Sage. Spotting her hopping the fence surrounding the pasture where the horses were corralled, he hopped it is well, following her when she started across the field. The two Appaloosas they’d spotted when they had arrived were still at the far end of the space but were now pacing restlessly from the blast. Stopping, Sage put her fingers to her mouth, whistling in a long note meant to catch their attention. 

“So, they belong to you?” Negan questioned, approaching her. 

A nod was her only response as she watched the horses to see if they would respond. “Shoot,” she muttered to herself. “Stupid move, using the grenade, Sage.” 

“Did it feel good?” he queried, stopping beside her. 

“What?” The woman turned, clearly annoyed by the question she didn’t comprehend. 

“Did it feel good to lob the grenade at the assholes?” 

“What kind of question is that?” 

“The horses will be fine. They were in the same spot, grazing when we pulled up. They’re just skittish from the noise. Just give them time to calm down,” he reassured her, reading the concern on her face as she stood with her hands on her hips looking out over the field. Putting his own fingers between his lips, he mimicked the call she had used, forcing it out at twice the volume. “The horses will calm down in no time,” Negan repeated, “So you’re only concern with throwing the grenade is whether it felt really fucking good to blow those men to pieces. Did it do the trick to help you feel like you exacted some bad ass revenge?” 

He gave her a shit eating grin when the horses responded to his call. “There you fucking go!” It was clear he was pleased with himself when the two horses’ ears shot up at the sound of his whistle and the animals started ambling across the field towards them. 

Sage turned to study him. He loved the fuck out of how she held eye contact with him the entire time she considered how to respond to his query about whether it had felt good to exact revenge. After a half a minute she finally lamented, “Not good enough.” 

___________ 

Tying the horses’ reins to the fence rail close to the demolished barn, Negan was pleased to see Keno had followed his instructions. Two of the Saviors trucks were gone, and Reggie, Timmy and Joe were sifting through the barn's wreckage, stacking useful items and nonperishable food they found in groups near the one truck left behind. Internally cursing at the remaining people, he turned to look at Sage, walking beside him. “Is there someplace you’d like us to drop off your stuff, since your … shelter has been annihilated?” he improvised, trying to cover his peoples’ stupid fucking lack of tact. 

Dragging herself out of her own head at the sound of his voice, the woman raised her eyebrows at him, taking a moment to process what he had said to her. Shifting her gaze from the goods piled three feet from his truck she rolled her eyes at his attempt to cover his greed. 

“I don’t want their stuff. Help yourself,” she informed him angrily, though Negan wasn’t sure if her upset was directed at the dead men, or the Saviors “Oh and look! How convenient for you! It’s already practically loaded into your vehicle!” Her tone changed to one of feigned surprise as she looked him dead in the eye and called him on his attempted bluff. Shaking her head, she turned and walked towards the farmhouse to the west of the barn, leaving him in her wake. 

“You don’t want any of it?” the leader clarified incredulously, quickening his pace to catch up to her. She would have to be batshit crazy not to take some or all of it. 

“Just leave me my horses!” she threatened over her shoulder. “I’ll kill you if you touch them!” 

The leader was amused by the fact she was okay with letting the horses out of her sight with a group of people she didn’t know. He could only assume she trusted them, to a degree, since they had saved her from a fate worse than death. He had no doubt she would make good on her threat after watching her stroke her horses’ manes and coo at them to soothe them once she had reached them in the pasture. She clearly loved them, viewing them as pets more than modes of transportation. 

She disappeared behind the house and Negan followed, wanting to see if she had a place to lay her head for the night. The factory could always use good people, and Sage seemed like a worthwhile addition. She had guts, and clearly knew her way around weapons. 

As he trailed behind her he gave her the once over, making note of her broad shoulders and slim waist. She was tall and lean with broad hips and a little extra padding at the top of her thighs, despite looking a bit malnourished. Her boobs were bigger than snack size, which made his mouth water. He had always loved a good titty fuck. Her auburn hair was hanging in greasy strands around her face and down past her shoulders, in need of a good washing. Even so, she was attractive, with high cheekbones and the wide set, sage colored eyes he’d had a chance to study while they had talked in the field. He was curious as to whether she had been named for her eye color, knowing they may not have turned green until she was several months old. 

He stood and watched her make her way to a pile of junk next to a three-vehicle garage which held a pickup truck and some farming equipment. He made a mental note to have his people come back for the farming equipment. The Savior followed her, staying several feet behind her as she started to tear through the heap, stopping occasionally to look over something she had picked up. She displayed a range of emotions as she went about her task, sometimes smiling at an item which looked to be in good shape, other times frowning or swearing under her breath when the trinket she pulled from the pile was damaged. No matter the condition of the piece, she sat it on the ground next to her before she continued to search. 

She seemed to have forgotten Negan had followed her, and she was so intent on her work she was startled when he finally inquired, “Do you need a hand?” 

Her head whipped around as she squatted down to pull at something near the bottom of the pile and she eyeballed him with an expression of sheer annoyance, responding succinctly, “No.” 

His presence must have unnerved her. She shifted her position so he was to her side where she could see him, instead of behind her back, before she went back to trying to free her find from the stack. Whatever it was it kept slipping from her hands as she tried to dislodge it, caught behind something in the pile. 

Ignoring her blow off, Negan stepped up next to her and bent over the pile of junk, lifting the piece of plywood and a metal bedframe which were impeding her success. After a shake of her head and a huff of impatience over his unwanted assistance, she reached into the space he had created by lifting the items out of the way and pulled out a soccer ball. After reassuring herself it was unharmed, she jumped up, and raising the ball above her head she started to do a victory dance over her find. _“Goal! Goal!_ _Gooooooooal_ _!”_ she chanted, mimicking the sportscasters on the Hispanic television channels before the turn. She laughed as she flitted about, oblivious to Negan. He grinned at her heartfelt display of excitement while confirming in his mind she was definitely a little fucking batshit. 

After she finally settled down she lowered the ball, turning it in her hands before she found what she was looking for and gently fingered a bold black signature penned on the white surface. Finally acknowledging her helper again, she offered, “Thank you. This was my dad’s. Pelé signed it for him after he won the World Cup in sixty-two.” When she finally looked up at the leader, he could see both joy and sadness in her expression, conveying how important both the ball and her father were to her. Her features softened as she spoke, both the hard ass persona and chronic resting bitch face she’d been sporting, melting away. Her beautiful greens finally came back to meet his gaze, and he was startled to see a different woman standing in front of him than the one he’d first spotted in the barn. 

“No fucking way!” Negan countered, impressed with the piece of sports memorabilia. 

“Yes, fucking way,” Sage answered his challenge with attitude. Clearly offended at the idea he didn’t believe her story about the signature’s origin she whipped the ball at him, hitting him in the chest with it and catching him completely off guard. He caught it after it bounced off his chest, admiring the signature as she went back to her search and rescue mission. 

“Those assholes throw your stuff here?” Having pieced together why she was sifting through the pile, he realized the things she had inspected and put aside belonged to her. Among them were a ceramic Snoopy Christmas ornament which had a chip on Woodstock’s beak and a child’s Barney lunchbox which she had shaken to be sure it still had contents inside. She had a dented metal kerosene lamp, a small wooden box with a hinged lid which looked like it had been someone’s sixth grade wood-shop project, and a thin, snapshot sized photo album with rainbows on the front cover and the name Sage painted in orange paint in awkward, elementary school script. There was also a thick, over-sized, torn, gray George Mason University hoodie which looked like it would keep someone warm in winter if it was worn over three or four layers of clothing, and a hardback copy of _Little House on the Prairie_. 

After Sage searched for a few more minutes, she jogged over to the garage. Negan waited by the junk pile, looking over the rest of her loot until she returned. She was pulling a good-sized, red Radio Flyer wagon behind her and had a ruck sack slung over her shoulder. He didn’t know why the fuck he was standing around watching the woman as if she was a one-man show. He should be by the barn, directing his people so they could load all their acquisitions and get back to the factory. 

“You’re still here?” she questioned as if she couldn’t understand why he was hanging around. “I can manage the rest, thanks.” Obviously not concerned enough by his presence to wait until he left, she went back to her work. 

He was kind of digging her sass. He was so used to his people kissing his ass all the time, it was a strangely pleasant change of pace to have someone fling some attitude his way. Taking a few steps to a nearby tree, he leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he continued to watch her. 

After taking inventory of what was in the wagon, she squatted next to it, rearranging its contents and adding what she had dug out of the pile, intently fitting the different pieces in to the wagon like she was putting together a jigsaw puzzle. When it was about half full, she caught his movement out of the corner of her eye and finally looked up, inquiring “Why _are_ you still here?” She stretched her arms out toward him, wiggling her fingers to indicate she wanted her ball back. 

“Way to make a guy feel wanted, doll,” the leader threw back at her melodramatically, tossing her the ball. “You want me to go, I’ll go!” Despite his threat he remained where he was, wanting to push her buttons a little bit. 

Cocking her head at him, Sage, raised her eyebrows in question at his failure to leave. “Really. What do you want? Won’t your girlfriend be upset you’re hanging around here and not getting back to see how she’s doing?” 

“I don’t want a fucking thing from you, doll,” he reassured her, adding, “Except for the supplies you so very graciously donated to my community.” He couldn’t blame her for assuming he had an ulterior motive. It had become ingrained in people, since the turn, to size everyone up to figure out how they could be useful or what they could provide. It was the nature of their new world. The problem was, not everyone who was sizing people up had good intentions, as had been the case with Lanky and Baldy. “And Arat’s not my girlfriend.” Unsure as to why he felt the need to explain himself to the woman he expanded defensively, “She’s like a kid sister to me. A while back I saved her from some guys just like the two assholes you just blew up. Needless to say, I feel a little fucking protective of her.” 

Sage looked at him appraisingly, her worry over Arat’s history, obvious. “Oh, no!” 

Seeing her genuine distress over the idea the men had possibly harmed the woman who had just helped her out of a similar situation, Negan felt the need to alleviate her worry. “They didn’t get their fucking hands on her, don’t worry. I got to her just in the nick of time.” 

The worry in her green eyes shifted to relief, then amusement as she studied him. “So, you’re like a damsel’s knight in leather armor, riding in on a white horse at the last minute, your lance in hand to save the day,” she teased, motioning with a sweep of her hand to his black leather jacket and Lucille as she spoke. 

Negan nodded his head in approval. “Well now that you mention it,” he validated, tucking his bat under his arm and pointing it forward as if it were a lance. He rolled his tongue between his front teeth, questioning, “Looks fucking awesome, right? And I’ll bet I’m the only knight in the realm with a lance signed by Stan the Man!” He couldn’t help but brag about the signature equally as impressive as Pele’s. 

“Stan Musial?” Her eyes lit up, and she smiled from ear to ear at the tidbit of information. “No fucking way!” 

“Yes, fucking way!” 

___________ 

When Negan and Sage finally rounded the corner of the demolished barn, the other Saviors were sitting on the tailgate of the transport truck, waiting on their leader. Fat Joseph and Little Timmy had opened a few cans of green beans they had found on the ground and were eating them with their fingers, laughing at the fact Q-Tip's dog Killer had taken a dump on Janis Joplin’s cot. The dog tended to make himself at home in whatever cubicle struck his fancy for the day, but Janis was the only lucky resident of the factory who had been awarded the honor of a pile of dog poop on her blanket. Her boyfriend, Bobby McGee, had chased the dog around the factory for ten minutes with a two by four threatening to kill the “fluffy little fucker” until he had rounded a corner and come face to face with the dog’s master, who was pointing a shot gun at the man’s forehead. Killer and Bobby had come to an immediate, albeit tense, truce. 

“All right, boys and girls, get your asses in gear! We need to make our stop at Haymarket and get back to the factory so I can check in on Robin!” 

Negan rarely called people by their given name. He was self-admittedly horrible at remembering names, so he gave everyone a moniker which would "stick in his head", as he'd explained to Arat when she'd questioned him about the matter. The only people who were called by their correct names were the first dozen or so people he and Arat had come across in their travels, because trying to memorize any more names was too much work, in his mind. 

No one knew what Janis’s real name was. She had been nicknamed as a result of her long, crazy hair and her husky voice on the first day the leader had met her. When she’d started screwing around with one of the factory’s new residents, the only logical choice for the new guy’s nickname had been Bobby McGee. 

Walking Sage over to the fence where her horses were tied, the leader offered her a final chance to take him up on an offer he had made as she had packed her wagon. “Are you sure, Sage? Like I told you, we can follow the truck on horseback back to our place. We have some garage space with Squishy and Harry S Truman’s names on it,” he gestured to the appaloosas with Lucille. 

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine,” she responded to his offer. “And I have your map if I change my mind.” She patted the small brown leather covered briefcase like item wedged between two other items in her wagon. When he had offered to give her directions, she had opened what hard turned out to be a backgammon set and pulled out a note pad and pen she had stored inside. Every vessel in her Radio Flyer was packed with useful goods of some sort, her backgammon set just happened to have paper, pens, a deck of cards, markers and a ruler. 

“A ruler?” he had questioned her when he spied the measuring device in the case with the paper. 

“I might need to draw a straight line,” she’d explained, looking at him as if the reason why she was lugging the thing around in the apocalypse should be obvious. 

Pulling some coiled rope out of her little red U-Haul, she threw it over Squishy’s head. It was fashioned into a harness of sorts, and Negan watched as she positioned the rope around the horse’s neck, then pulled two, long loose ends back behind the horse and tied them to the wagon’s handle. 

“Hey, boss,” Fat Joe approached him. Did you bring the coordinates for the place in Haymarket you wanted to check out, or did we send them back to the Factory with Keno, by mistake?” 

“I got ‘em right here, Fat Joseph.” Negan tapped his temple with his index finger. “Thirty-eight point eighty-one north, by seventy-seven point sixty-three west. “Reggie has the map with the coordinates.” 

“Impressive, Skinny Joe!” his lieutenant teased, comparing him to the Sanctuary’s human GPS who knew coordinates for and directions to every useful and useless place a person could think of. 

“Aren’t I always?” the leader quipped, always looking for the opportunity to point out his magnificence. 

He dismissed the chubby one, making it clear he didn’t want to be bothered while he was talking to Sage. Turning back to her, he found she had finished securing the wagon to Squishy, strapped the rucksack to the animal’s back and made sure the bit and reins for both horses were secure. Grabbing a tuft of Harry S Truman’s mane low on his neck, she took a couple of steps and used the handful of hair like a saddle horn for leverage to swing one leg up over the horse and straddle it bareback. 

“Nice!” Negan complimented, impressed with her horsemanship. “Lost your saddles somewhere along the way, or have you always ridden bare back?” 

“Nah,” Sage smiled down at him. “I left them behind. I was afraid they would be too bulky if we needed to escape a pack of deadies on the fly. Didn’t want to give the things something to grab on to and make it easier to take my babies down. That’s why they both have their stylin’ haircuts, too.” She motioned to the horses’ manes, which were cut to less than an inch in length, except for a handful of hair at the base of their neck which she had used to mount Harry. 

“What about the harness?” Negan pointed out what he thought was a flaw in her easy escape plan, since the roamers could grab its ropes to get their clutches on the horse. 

Patting the knife now strapped to her thigh, and then reaching over to tug at the rope encircling the horse’s neck, she demonstrated how easy it would be to cut the rope. One swipe of her knife and the rope and wagon would be cut loose, freeing the horse. The Savior nodded appreciatively. 

“I better go,” Sage stated. “These guys haven’t had any water for two days.” 

“Is there a source of water around here?” Negan smoothed his palm down Squishy’s neck as he questioned her. He didn’t know why he gave a fuck, other than it would be a shame for the horses to die of simple thirst when they had survived for as long as they had. 

“Cannon Branch,” she informed him. It’s only a couple of miles from here. This area is so isolated, there doesn’t seem to be many dead ones roaming around.” Despite the noise from the grenade's blast, only a couple of roamers had made their way out of the woods at the far end of the property, getting stuck on the outside of the pasture’s fence. The structure was too long for them figure out how to easily roam their way around it, so they kept bumping into it like wind up dolls which had run into a wall. “Must not have worked their way over here from the bigger towns.” Reaching over, she took the end of Squishy’s rope in her hands. “Thanks for your help. And please thank Arat again for me. She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.” 

“Sure thing, doll. And you know where to find us if you need us.” 

“I do. Thanks for your help, Sir Lancelot!” 

________ 

Negan stewed about Sage for the entire ride back to the Sanctuary, wondering how she would survive on her own. She had admitted to him, without adding any detail, she had been traveling with a small group before Lanky and Baldy had killed them. The Sanctuary’s leader had turned on the charm, expecting her to drop her guard and eventually her panties as did every other attractive woman he and his people came across, but she had turned him down, insisting she could take care of herself. 

“You have some place in mind for shelter?” 

“No,” she had answered as she’d strapped a weapons belt around her waist for the Baretta she had taken from the men. It turned out it was hers and had been pilfered by her kidnappers when they had jumped her a few days before. The knuckle duster was now in a sheath buckled to her thigh. She had dropped it during her escape from the barn, then found it as she'd searched for her possessions.

Luckily the men had overlooked most of the items in her wagon, including a handful of boxes of ammo for the Baretta, which were hidden at the bottom of her stash. She also had a compound bow and two quivers of bolts. She shared with Negan how the men were too stupid to figure out how to use it, so they had abandoned it on the pile. When he had commented it looked pretty fucking badass, she had revealed she used it for hunting. 

“No shit?” 

“No shit,” she had responded, laughing at his surprise. 

While she had a few useless, sentimental items in her wagon, it was otherwise filled with anything a person might need to take care of themself if they were alone out in their big, cruel world. Besides the bow, there was a small tent and a heavily insulated sleeping bag. 

“You know we’ve got a big place, fenced in, lots of other people if you want to come back with us, Katniss” he had invited. “We’ve got a pretty good thing going there. You’ve already found out why a woman shouldn’t be out there on her own. It’s fucking ugly.” He took a sweeping glance at the picturesque, tranquil surroundings which contradicted his words. 

Sage seemed to realize the discrepancy as well, turning to smile at him after she looked around. “I appreciate it, but I think I need to go it alone.” 

He didn’t know why he cared what happened to her. He’d come across other people in his travels alone, or with his group who either hadn’t wanted to join forces with the Saviors, or who the Saviors had deemed unworthy of sharing their esteemed title. For some reason, he gave a shit whether the woman they had saved lived or died, and he wondered if he would ever come across her again. 

_________ 

“Hey boss!” Laura’s voice came over Negan’s walkie talkie as he sat in the conference room with Simon and Arat a few weeks later, going over plans for a massive scavenging run. They needed to spend a day searching outlying areas for stores and housing developments which hadn’t been picked over yet. They were running low on non-perishables, and two of his best hunters had been taken down by a pack of dead ones a few weeks prior. 

“You think Ishmael and Moby Dick could teach a few more people to fish?” Arat asked, referring to the brothers who would take their sons to the lake a mile from the factory and catch striped bass and catfish a few times a month. “Ish keeps saying if he can catch enough extra on his trips, he can start drying it to keep for winter.” 

“If we don’t figure something out to build up our stock for winter, they're going to be taking their boys out the creek for ice fishing come February,” Simon quipped. The three top dogs had discussed the matter to death, and they knew the Saviors needed to become more self-sufficient. Until then, they needed to continue to scavenge. The Savior’s numbers were constantly increasing, and it was becoming hard to keep up with all the mouths to feed. 

Negan nodded at Simon, simultaneously clicking the button on his walkie. “Yeah, Laura? What’s up?” 

“I've got a lady here at the front gate says she knows you.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Freckles?” Negan goaded his lieutenant with a nickname she hated. 

“There’s a woman with a horse, boss.” Laura laughter was heard on the device before she added, “Says she’s looking for Sir Lancelot? The guy with the leather jacket and the bat?” 

_________ 

When Negan and Arat approached the gate, the look on Sage’s face told him a sad tale. Her gaze landed on him the moment he had a partial view of her standing outside the front gate, her eyes pleading with him. For what, he didn’t fucking know. He knew something bad had gone down when he was close enough to take in the entire scene. She was standing next to Squishy, holding her reins and Harry S Truman was nowhere to be seen. 

“Open the fucking gate!” he yelled at Laura and Pokerface as he approached the entrance to the compound, pissed they had made the woman wait so close to the gauntlet of dead ones they kept outside the fences to deter invaders. 

Sage held his gaze the entire time he moved, and he raised one hand, motioning with two fingers for her to walk through the gate. In contrast to when she had ridden away from him at the farm, she was now pulling her little red wagon behind her as she and the horse both limped through the gate. Her rucksack was slung over her shoulder. She looked battered, her jawline and chin looking as if she had been gravel diving, and her knuckles had been recently torn open, her hand covered with both fresh and dried blood. 

When Negan was within five feet of her, she took the last few steps to meet him, her fingers reaching out to clutch the open edge of his leather jacket as she began to babble at him, “Your doctor? Do you think he will help me with Squishy’s leg? I don’t have ... She’s in a lot of pain, it’s stripped to the bone in one spot, muscle is torn. Please? Or if you have sutures and a few other … I can ...” Realizing the man was looking her over to ascertain the nature of her wounds, she explained in a rush, “We weren’t bitten, we’re just hurt. They didn’t get us.” Tears started to fall as she added, “They got Harry, but Squishy and I managed to get out of the middle of the pack without getting bitten.” 

“Ahh, fuck. I'm sorry, doll,” Negan commiserated before turning to Laura. “Call for Carson. Tell him to meet us at the garage by the loading dock.” He continued, as he eyeballed the horse’s leg, “Let him know he’s going to need equipment for two people to stitch several layers of a major wound and enough anesthetic to numb a horse. Literally.” The leader assumed, from the wording of Sage’s plea, she was proficient with stitching lacerations. 

Before he was finished giving his orders, he moved to the horse, taking her reins from her owner. “Arat! Grab the wagon and her bag. Let’s get Squishy over to the garage and get her settled while we wait for Carson.” 


	3. Serious Fire Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the hell was Sage hiding? He usually made his way around the Sanctuary grounds a few times over the course of a day, so he was surprised he hadn’t run into her at some point. 

Doctor Emmett Carson and Doctor Sage Grayson had easily repaired Squishy’s lower leg, the absence of damage to any tendons or ligaments making the job easier. Both physicians mending the foot and a half long wound cut the procedure's time in half, reducing the mare’s stress. The factory’s resident doc then tended to Sage’s superficial injuries, cleaning the dirt out of the lacerations on her face and hand and disinfecting her wounds before he wrapped a bandage around her knuckles to keep them clean and protect them while they healed. 

Both patients were resting in the empty garage attached to warehouse B when Negan stopped in to check on them after dinner. Squishy was drinking water from a five-gallon bucket which had been provided for the Sanctuary’s newest, equine guest. Sage was passed out on her sleeping bag in the corner several feet away. Her compound bow was within easy reach, already nocked. 

The moment the leader walked into the space, the horse began to shuffle its feet nervously, emitting small whinnies and huffs of breath which woke her owner. Negan made his way to the mare, soothing her with gentle strokes down her short mane and her neck, and murmuring his version of sweet nothings in her ear. “Calm the fuck down baby girl. No need to get your panties in a damn twist. It’s just me.” Pulling an apple out of his pocket, Negan held it on the flat of his palm and let the horse take it from him. 

“You have quite a way with the ladies,” the leader heard behind him as he pet the animal, and he looked over his shoulder to see the groggy woman sheathing the knife she had reached for when her horse’s restlessness had alerted her to potential danger. “She’s putty in your hands,” Sage acknowledged. “Understandable, since you have such a way with words.” 

Negan gave Squishy a final pat on her nose and turning to her owner. “What can I say It? It’s a fucking gift.” 

“God given,” she expanded, raising an eyebrow at him skeptically. She rose from where she sat on her sleeping bag and started to rifle through the wagon she had parked close by, pulling out some odds and ends. “You hungry?” she inquired, holding out her hands to offer up his choice of a can of artichoke hearts or a jar of sundried tomatoes in oil. 

“I’m good,” he insisted. “Just had dinner an hour ago.” The short haired, stocky blonde woman he had dubbed Gordon Ramsey had delivered his dinner at six on the nose, as he insisted she do Monday through Friday. This gave him time to eat, and then visit the “wife du jour” for a little freaky deaky before he moved on to partake in his busy social schedule. He played poker on Monday nights, ping pong on Wednesdays and billiards on Friday. Dolly had tried to talk him into county line dancing on Thursdays, to which the leader had responded, “Over my dead, rotten fucking, teeth gnashing body.” 

On Saturdays the man in charge threw his usual nightly schedule to the wind and Gordon knocked on his door promptly at five, because her boss liked to eat exactly one hour before he made his way to Brendi’s room for his weekly blow job. The blonde was a top-notch cock sucker, no doubt about it. He didn’t fuck her, choosing instead to get her off quickly after he climaxed with some hand work or a good tongue lashing. He had found the young woman was a whiner and a princess. She didn’t like being on top, or messing up her hair, or when he thrust too deep, or when he sucked on her nipples too hard. The list went on and on, which was more irritating than amusing since she always orgasmed with the force of a nuclear explosion, even as her next complaint was rolling off her tongue. He was obviously doing something right, for fuck’s sake, but to hear her grumbling a person would think otherwise. 

The second time he had fucked her, when she had listed four grievances in under three minutes, he had almost demoted her to live among the ranks on the factory floor. Her honey don’t list had almost cost her the esteemed privilege of being one of his sister wives. Her deep throating technique made him think twice, however, and he had come up an alternative, more congenial Saturday evening schedule. He would enjoy the woman’s premium blow job early in the evening, and get her off as he had before. Then he would head to the Altar, the bar reserved for the upper classes at the Sanctuary. His lieutenants had been greatly amused with themselves when they had stolen dozens of hymnals and bibles, along with window shutters, pews and the actual marble altar from a nearby church and stacked them, fashioning them into a bar, tables and seating at their watering hole. After enjoying a fuck ton of cocktails with his top people and the fortunate few workers who had been smart enough to kiss his ass on the regular to gain the privilege of drinking at the members only cantina, he would make his way to Annie’s room for what he called his “fucking nightcap”. Wife number four didn’t mind her hair standing on end when he was done with her, she loved it rough, and she loved being on top. She also didn't complain when he had informed her," Negan doesn't do sleep overs." God fucking bless Annie. 

When Brendi had questioned why Negan never fucked her anymore, he had simply responded, “Because your fucking whining makes my goddamn dick soft,” in his typical, very tactful way, which had shut her up. His wives knew better than to ever question Negan, and Brendi had been afraid she’d be the first of his wives to ever get fired, or divorced, whichever the case might be. Not wanting to find out how their breakup would be defined, the woman hadn’t questioned him since. 

________ 

“You know there’s dinner in the cafeteria every night at five,” Negan informed Sage, watching her open the jar of tomatoes and dig in with a stainless-steel fork she had pulled out of a small leather satchel. 

“Doctor Carson mentioned that. I just don’t want to start getting comfortable here. If I start eating the food and taking advantage of the amenities, I’ll be beholden to someone. I don’t want to have to stick around long enough to pay the big man back,” she explained reasonably as she speared three of the julienned bits of fruit. 

“The big man?” the leader questioned her with a cock of his head, curious as to why she was talking as if he wasn’t standing right in front of her. 

“The man in charge here,” Sage expounded. “Reagan? No, Negan. That’s the head honcho’s name, isn’t it?” 

Negan chuckled, responding, “Negan. Yes. That’s _his_ name.” 

“Look, Joe,” she started to explain, her confusion over the strange inflection in his confirmation evident in her expression. “Your name’s Skinny Joe, isn’t it?” The doc pointed one of the fingers holding the jar at him. Not waiting for him to respond, she continued, “I appreciate you letting me tend to Squishy, here. And the use of your people’s medical supplies. When Squishy is up to leaving, I’ll be sure to find replacements for what I used and bring them back to you …" 

Sage was interrupted when Fat Joe came through the door, making a bee line for the man in the leather jacket. “Simon said I should hunt you down. We have a code orange. He tried to reach you on your walkie.” 

“Ahh, shit,” Negan swore at both the fact he’d forgotten to turn device clipped to his belt on when he left his apartment and the fact there was a runaway. “Who?” 

“Beyonce.” 

“Really? Beyonce?” the leader had thought he was close to worming his way into the panties of one of the Sanctuary’s newest and hottest residents. He was surprised to hear she had jumped ship, since he had made his interest pretty fucking clear to her. “She take anything?” 

“She lifted Keno’s Ruger,” the chubby man replied, flinching, knowing his boss was going to go ballistic at the news. 

“What the fuck?!” Negan swore, the volume of his voice doubling in decibels with the question. “Haven’t I told you fucking morons the only time you let your weapons out of your sight is when you’re sleeping, and even then keep them close at hand?” 

“He didn’t, boss!” Joe’s shoulders raised towards his ears as he ducked his head, panic on his face as he clarified, “I mean he did ... only let it out of his sight when he was sleeping!” The lieutenant looked sheepish as he tried to defend his buddy. “He was sleeping when she took it and then snuck off!” He eyed his boss warily up his forehead, his head and shoulders hunched as if he was waiting for a physical blow in response to the bad news. 

_“S_ _o_ _you’re telling me Beyonce broke into Keno’s room while he was sleeping, and stole his fucking gun?”_ Negan yelled, waving his bat furiously, then pointing it at the messenger as he waited for a response. 

Fat Joe simply looked at his boss, hoping he would connect the dots as to how the escapee had gotten into Keno’s room. When the man continued to stare at him waiting for a response he expounded meekly, “Um … she didn’t break in. She may have been invited.” 

The big boss heard Sage’s chuckle behind him and he turned, glaring at her. Struggling to fish out the last lone strip of tomato in the jar with her fork, she mumbled to herself, “Just like a man. A woman offers up some action, and his brain falls out of his ass.” Managing to drag the strip of dried fruit up the side of the jar with her fork, she lowered her mouth to the rim and pushed the bite of food in with the end of the tines. It took her several seconds to realize things had gotten quiet and she finally looked up to find the end of the wooden baseball bat pointed in her direction. 

“Anything else you want to add, Sherlock?” Negan challenged her. He was pissed Keno had experienced the pleasure of feeling his soon to be paramour’s long-ass legs wrapped around his back. He was also aggravated Sage had deduced Keno had invited Beyonce to his room to slip her a bone, before he’d figured it out himself. 

Pursing her lips, Sage tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smile off her face. “Not trying to be rude, since I am only a guest here, but do you mind doing your yelling somewhere else?” She pressed her lips together in a final attempt to neutralize her expression while she sat her dinner on the floor and then rose to make her way to her horse, who was shuffling on her feet once more out of nervousness. 

Not amused in the least, the leader thrust the tip of Lucille a few inches in the direction of the woman’s chest to let her know of his discontent. “I’ll yell wherever the fuck I please!” Despite his adamance, he had lowered the volume of his voice to a less threatening level. Stalking over to Fat Joey, he grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the garage. 

___________ 

It was one in the morning before Negan finally had the chance to relax. He had sent Fat Joseph, Simon and Regina out to do a precursory search for the runaway, telling them to look for any sign of her they could find before daylight ran out and report back to him when they returned. He then had made his way to Keno’s room to ream him a new asshole and box his ears a few times, which he’d found incredibly helpful in relieving his frustration over the matter. 

Jogging up the several flights of stairs to the floor of his apartment in the factory, he unlocked his door and made his way inside, sloughing his leather jacket and hanging it on the coat rack next to the door frame. He headed straight to the shelving unit in the living area to his right, he poured himself a scotch, straight up, and took a few swigs before he made his way to the wall full of windows which overlooked a good part of the factory’s property. The moon was low in the sky, and full, illuminating the buildings in his view. 

His gaze was drawn to warehouse B, where he had left Sage earlier in the evening. He had to admit he was happy she had sought him out in her time of need. As he mulled over their brief interactions, his gaze landed on the automotive bay where the good doctor was residing with her horse. She had pulled down the garage door, and he could make out a faint light glowing behind its small eye level windows. He wondered if she had lit the small kerosene lamp she’d been toting in her wagon. 

That fucking wagon. The idea of her dragging the contraption around since the apocalypse had begun was absurd. It was bulky since she’d packed it a foot above the top rung, and despite the premium tires on the upscale wooden Radio Flyer model, the load would slow her down should she ever need to flee trouble. She knew as much, so had fashioned her cut away harness. Packed half full of useful items and half full of memorabilia, he couldn’t relate to her need to hold on to the ridiculous tidbits of her life before the turn. Other than carrying his bat and wearing the practical leather jacket and boots he’d bought along with his first Harley when he was eighteen, the only thing he harbored from the past was his wallet, which contained his old driver’s license, a ticket stub from a 1982 Styx concert and some cherished photos of loved ones. 

He replayed the start of his conversation with Sage earlier in the day, trying to figure out why she thought his name was Skinny Joe. It took him a few minutes to recall the first day they had met, when the Fatter of the Josephs had referred to him as Skinny Joe, likening his boss to the human GPS. He chuckled to himself as he swallowed down the rest of his drink, amused at how she had started to talk about the man in charge, not realizing the subject of her musings was her listener. She’d obviously already formed an impression of him, based on some stupid fucker’s gossip. Since she’d had limited interactions with his people in the short time since she had arrived, he wondered if it was Doctor Carson who had initiated her concerns about owing the establishment. 

________ 

Negan stopped by warehouse B at different times over the next few days, but always seemed to miss Sage. He would take the time to give Squishy an apple and coo at her. The animal was favoring her three good legs when she moved about but was much less skittish than she was when he first he’d met her. 

Looking around the garage one afternoon, he noted Sage’s personal effects were gone, except for her empty red wagon which she had pad locked to an exposed pipe on the wall. The lock wouldn’t deter someone who was serious about stealing it, but it would keep people at bay who simply wanted to fuck with it. Smirking at the thing, he walked over to it, something on the inside of one of the red slats catching his attention. Squatting down next to the wagon, he reached out to touch the letters on the top slat of the back rest. Scrawled in pencil in the sloppy block style of a child just learning how to write was the name Hunter. 

The childish handwriting brought on an uncharacteristic feeling of melancholy for Negan and he couldn’t help but wonder if Hunter had liked racing down a grassy hill in his wagon with his dad, or being pulled at high speed around his yard until the wagon would tip over, sending him sprawling to the ground. He wondered whether Hunter and his dad would laugh uproariously until the little boy begged his dad to “do it again!”, pouting when his father had responded, “That’s it for today, Negan. Your mom said we need to get washed up for dinner. She’s going to have a cow when she sees the grass stains on your clothes.” Agitated, The Sanctuary’s leader rose, leaving the garage to take a walk around the compound before dinner. 

Where the hell was Sage hiding? He usually made his way around the Sanctuary grounds a few times over the course of a day, so he was surprised he hadn’t run into her at some point. 

________ 

“I’ve seen her in passing,” Arat informed him at the Altar the next night. 

“Where the fuck has she been?” Negan pondered aloud. “And what the fuck has she been doing all day?” It was starting to aggravate him he hadn’t come across Sage, so he started asking those closest to him if they had seen her. “Bring me another one, Skippy!” the man in charge held up his highball glass, waving at the bartender wearing the pleated khakis and the short sleeve, pink oxford shirt with the button-down collar. The boss couldn’t stand the pretentious asshole and his talk of the seventy-foot sailboat he’d had before the turn and huge house on the water in Montgomery County he and his partner had shared. Skippy could mix a mean dirty martini though, so the leader cut him some slack, giving him a cushy job running the bar after advising him he’d end up working the fences if he ever mentioned his boat or his floor to ceiling windows again. 

“Simon!” Arat called to Negan’s other second in command. “Have you seen Sage since she got here?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Because I fucking asked, that’s why!” his boss bit at him. 

“I see,” he responded with a nod of his head, Negan’s irritation not phasing him in the least. “Once.” Starting to walk away after his succinct response, he turned back around adding, “But talk to Keno. He may know where to find her since she slept with him two nights ago.” 

_“Wrong answer, Simon.”_ Arat thought to herself, cringing. She could tell Negan was sweet on the Sanctuary’s new resident, having seen him eyeball her ass more than once on the two occasions she had seen them together. Giving Simon a subtle shake of her head, she turned back to concentrate on her beer as he floundered, “But that’s just what I heard. You know how the gossip is around this place. Probably not true. Not true at all …" He continued as he walked away, not wanting to be the one to take the brunt of Negan’s anger should he explode at the news. 

“What in the fucking fuck? Who hasn’t Keno fucking slept with in this place?” the big boss questioned between gritted teeth. First Beyonce, now Sage. 

“Um, your wives?” Arat tried to placate him, not sure if her response would do the trick. “And the Joes, for sure. They are straight as the day is long. Keno, not so much.” 

“Christ, Slutty Mc Fuckington has slept with men, too?” How did he not know this shit? Suddenly subdued, Negan squinted at her, his tone laced with curiosity as he queried, “Has he fucked around with Smelly Susan?” 

“Oh, God no! Even Skippy wouldn’t sleep with Smelly Susan!” Arat tried insisted. 

“No I wouldn’t,” Skippy shook his head as he sat a fresh drink down on the bar top in front of his boss. “Even though I’m pretty desperate at this point. But I did screw around with Keno after the Christmas party last December. Sooo drunk that night. I really can’t be held responsible for my behavior. Where's your coaster? You’ll stain the marble.” The bartender shook his head, moving off, passing by a few seconds later and tossing a cardboard Budweiser coaster down in front of Negan. 

“What in the fuck does everyone see in Keno?” the leader prodded Arat. “His hair is always fucking greasy; he wears the same fucking clothes for days in a row. I don’t fucking get it!” He stared at his drinking buddy, waiting for her response. 

She took another swig of her beer, not sure she wanted to fill her boss in on Keno’s appeal. 

“Well?” The impatience in her boss’s tone was clear, and Arat wasn’t as strong as Simon when it came to blowing off his bad moods. 

“He’s slinging some serious fire power,” she finally mumbled, downing the rest of her beer in one long gulp. 

“Fire power?” Negan spat. “What? He’s got a big dick? _Really?_ Everyone is so fucking shallow all they care about is a big dick?” He took a swallow of his martini, slamming the heavy glass down on the bar in front of him. 

“Coaster!” Skippy reminded him from the other end of the bar, pointing to the red and white square next to Negan's Tanqueray. 

Reaching for the full beer Skippy had left on the edge of the bar for her, Arat fiddled with the label of her bottle. Sounding more than a little offended at the slight, she shot back, respectfully, “Maybe he knows how to use it! It’s not just about the size, Negan.” 

Her boss’s head whipped around, and he glared at his charge for several seconds before he accused, “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.” When she failed to respond, essentially confirming her guilt, he shook his head in disgust and stood up from his barstool. “I can’t even fucking look at you right now,” Negan half teased, yet seriously derided her. “He wore that fucking pussy ass Journey tee shirt for five days in a fucking row last week! What the fuck, Arat?” 

“I know, I know.” She didn’t understand why she was suddenly embarrassed she had screwed around with the lieutenant. But he really was a giver, she had to admit. “I caught him on shower and laundry day, I swear!” 

________ 

Negan pondered what size cock was big enough to be considered “serious fire power” as he jogged up the steps to his apartment at two something in the morning, sure he too would be classified as toting a big fucking gun. He might need to send Keno to live at one of the outposts if the man kept his shit up. He didn’t want to have to grill every woman he wanted to fuck about whether Keno had already gotten into their panties. 

The thought of taking a turn with Sage after Keno had already tapped her, pissed him off. He’d still fuck her, though. No doubt he was better in the sack than the likes of Keno. He might have to question Arat on what she meant by, _“he knows how to use it”_. How many things were there to do with it, for fuck’s sake? He was pretty sure he knew them all and did them amazingly well. 

The wind-up clock on his nightstand read two-sixteen. He kicked off his boots and hung his jacket on the hook next to the door. Stripping off his socks and white tee shirt, he threw them in the laundry basket in the corner, trying to decide if he should go to sleep right away and wake up at six thirty in the morning, which was too early in his book, or whether he should stay up for a bit so he could sleep later. 

He hadn’t slept more than four or five hours a night since the world had ended and rarely fell asleep before two or three in the morning. Luckily Simon and Arat were morning people, so the Sanctuary’s illustrious leader could sleep in and start work later. In his past life he had been up at five thirty every morning to get to his teaching job at the high school by six. Lately there were nights he didn’t fall asleep until four or five in the morning. At first his fucked up circadian rhythm had pissed him off. After days and weeks and then months of running the Sanctuary and never being able to walk five steps without someone needing something from him - help, advice, instruction, or an ass kicking, he welcomed the still of night and the tranquility which came with the early morning hours. 

At first he had hated the quiet, finding it a time when his memories and demons came out to yell in his ear. Once he had laid the fuckers to rest, though, the early morning hours were perfect for some _fuck everybody but me_ time. At the Sanctuary every hour of the day was _fuck everybody_ _but Negan_ time, but in the middle of the night at least he didn’t have fifteen people at once yammering in his ear about asinine bullshit. He liked to spend the quiet time alone. To ensure this he had mandated lights out for the workers at ten, and required the lieutenants to move all late night activities to their floor or room in the factory which left Negan with plenty of time to wander the premises without interruption. 

Flipping the light switch off he made his way to the windows to look over his building and grounds. Once again his eyes were drawn to warehouse B, but there was no light shining behind the windows in the garage doors. A glow on the top of the building caught his eye, however, and he hastily grabbed his binoculars from the shelf next to him and focused in on the source of the light. 

He spent several minutes scanning the roof of the building. “Well I’ll be fucking damned!” he muttered to himself before setting the field glasses down and moving back to the laundry basket to grab the tee shirt he’d just tossed inside. He pulled it over his head, sniffing the armpits to see if they stunk. _“Christ, I’m no better than Lieutenant Rocket Launcher.”_ Slipping his feet into his boots and grabbing his leather jacket, he headed out the door, locking it behind him. _“At least my hair’s fucking clean.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I realize in every Negan story I've written the OC has injured her hand at some point. We'll just call it an Easter egg. ;0)


	4. A Trip To The Post Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan spends some time trying to figure out what his new resident is doing with her time.

"Tiny fucking rung ladder fucker will be the fucking death of me!” Negan swore under his breath as he ascended the metal ladder on the wall of bay three in warehouse B. Over in bay one, Squishy huffed and whinnied in response to his presence. “And you, shut the fuck up!” he muttered at the mare. “I don’t need your shit while I’m trying to avoid breaking my neck.” 

The rungs were only three quarters of an inch deep, and the long toes of his biker boots were hitting the wall behind the rungs each time he tried to get a good foot hold on the next one. Finally reaching the top, he pushed the hatch to the roof open and started to climb through. 

“You know, you really would not be a good person to take on a stealth mission,” Sage criticized. Backlit by the small fire which was burning ten feet away, she was standing over him in the dark, the bolt in her compound bow pointed at his right eye. “I could hear you bitching from the minute you started up the ladder.” 

“You knew I was coming, and yet you still have that thing pointed at my skull?” he challenged her as he climbed onto the roof and straightened to his full height, not in the least bit intimidated by her. 

“Hey,” she retorted. “You can’t be too careful these days.” They stood with the tip of her bolt two feet from his eye for several seconds, Sage’s defensive stance letting Negan know he shouldn’t assume she trusted him simply because she knew him. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night? It’s two in the morning.” 

Cocking his head and raising his eyebrows at her, he wordlessly challenged the threat she was presenting, waiting for her to lower her bow. If she didn’t do it soon he was going to have to show her who was in charge in their duo. “I was walking through the compound and I could smell your smoke. Was wondering what the fuck was on fire on the roof,” he lied, not wanting to tell her he could see her from the factory’s windows. 

“So you came up here empty handed in the face of a possible fire?” 

Realizing she had a valid question he countered, “There’s a fire extinguisher on the wall of the garage. I wasn’t going to carry the fucker all the way up here over the little bit of smoke coming off the roof when I could just go back down and get it if I needed it. And look,” he added. “I could just turn that bitch over and put that thing out.” He really could. The fire was contained in one half of a tabletop hibachi grill. Sitting on the corresponding grate was a stainless steel pot. He could make out steam rising from it in the light of the flames. “It would suffocate underneath the metal,” he reasoned before gesturing toward the grill. “Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” 

“Bath water,” she informed him as she finally put down her bow and went about her business. She had quite the set up in her outdoor penthouse. Her two-man tent was set up near the fire, along with a portable canvas lawn chair. Her things were stacked in the closest corner of the roof, covered by a blue tarp which was weighted down with bricks to keep it dry in case of rain. Peeling back the plastic, she pulled out a black leather doctor’s satchel. Rifling through it she took out several items before holding them out in front of him. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

“Silk thread, bandages, disinfectant,” she informed him. “Oh, and a couple of suture hooks. Doc Carson mentioned he didn’t have one. I told you I would replace the supplies we used for Squishy’s leg.” Placing the items in his palm, she didn’t expand on her answer. Turning to squat down next to her grill, she moved the water over to the second grate to stop it from boiling. 

“Where did you get these?” Negan inquired curiously. 

Sage’s response was a little too quick and a little too nonchalant. “I found them in my things. Forgot I had them.” 

“Heh.” Running his tongue between his teeth, he challenged her firmly. “No you didn’t. You know every fucking thing you drag around in that goddamn wagon of yours. You told me you would replace the items when you could leave the grounds.” 

Despite the low light, he could see the spark in Sage’s narrowed eyes as she geared herself up for a fight. Thinking better of challenging him, she turned back to her task, pouring her hot water into a metal bucket which normally lived in her wagon. Full of miscellaneous items when she had been on the road, it was now empty of everything but what looked like a few gallons of water. 

“I have things to do here. Do you mind?” She jerked her head toward the hatch as she made her suggestion. 

“Yes I _do_ mind,” the leader informed her, taking two steps in her direction. He wanted to know where she had gotten the items in his hand, and he wasn’t going to leave until she gave him an answer. 

The leader was more than miffed at her refusal to answer him. People didn’t say no to Negan. The problem was, Sage didn’t know he was Negan. He had never had the chance to correct her assumption he was Skinny Joe. “Did you steal these from someone?” he demanded, jumping to an obvious conclusion. “If I ask around, am I going to find out someone is missing these?” 

“How dare you!” she stood once more and was in his face in the blink of an eye. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded. “I’ve heard about the kind of people you’re used to dealing with here, but just because you live in a den of thieves doesn’t mean everyone would stoop to their level!” 

“What the fuck do you mean, _the kind of people I’m used to dealing with_ ? What the fuck are you talking about, _Doctor_ Grayson?” he emphasized her title, insinuating she felt she was above the rest of the people living at the Sanctuary because of her degree. 

She caught on to his assumption immediately. Shaking her head at him she chuckled. “That is seriously fucking rich,” she provoked him, suddenly calm. “A few of the factory’s own were the ones to tell me I better watch out for my stuff, that everything was fair game here. Not that I blame them,” she added. “It's almost understandable those who are denied basic comforts and essentials would stoop to stealing from others who have them.” 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he threw back at her, even though her assertion was more than a little true. 

She stared at him silently for several seconds before she finally responded, “You know what? I’m not going to get into this with you. All I’m going to tell you is I don’t appreciate being accused of stealing.” Reaching out, she quickly pulled the items she’d given him back out of his hands before walking away from him. “I’ll give these to Emmett myself. Can you please go now?” 

Angry she'd had the gall to tell him to leave, he stormed up to her, staring her down as he yelled, “You want to know who the hell I think I am?” He repeated her earlier question, looking forward to dropping the answer on her. “I’m fucking Negan!” 

He was caught off guard when she laughed, dismissing his claim. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. _We’re all Negan._ Or so I’ve heard. You really want to be likened to a sociopath? Does it make you feel good to throw around your boss’s name? Pretend to have more power than you actually do?” She picked up a towel and wash cloth from her lawn chair and moved them closer to her bath water. 

“You better watch what you fucking say, lady,” he threatened. He could practically feel the steam coming out of his own ears. If this broad continued to push him, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. 

Moving to her tent, Sage reached inside to grab a few things. As she had been during the confrontation in the barn, she was cool as cucumber, their heated discussion seeming to have no more effect on her than a discussion about the weather. Negan, on the other hand, was on the brink of unleashing his wrath on her. It was a good fucking thing he didn’t have Lucille with him he mused, or her head would be all over the fucking roof by the time he was done with her. 

Clueless as to the effect her words were having on him, she turned, walking to her chair to pick up a washcloth and a plastic bottle. Turning the bottle upside down she smacked and shook it a few times, letting out a frustrated huff when she realized there was very little liquid in it. “Really Joe,” she turned back to him, speaking as if she hadn’t just spewed a load of venom at him. “Do you mind? I want to clean up while my water is still hot. It’s kind of a treat to have clean, hot water to bathe with.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Negan returned incredulously, taking the five steps needed to invade her space from behind. “ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ” he repeated, roaring in her ear. 

He gave her credit for the fact she didn’t flinch or move away from him. Instead, she turned to him, sounding genuine when pointed out, “If you don’t want people to fling shit at you, don’t fling it at them first. I don’t like being accused of stealing.” 

It infuriated him further, yet also made him rethink throttling her when he noticed the unmistakable twinkle in her eyes as she scolded him. She had thrown all her sass in his direction just to make a point and she was enjoying the effect it had on him. 

Negan ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he stared her down, warning, “You better watch who you fuck with, lady.” 

Sage broke into a smile, cocky as she assured him, “You don’t scare me, Joe. I’ve heard you’re just a big old teddy bear at heart.” 

__________ 

"Why would Sage think I’m a fucking sociopath?” Negan questioned Arat and Simon the next evening after dinner. “Who the fuck is putting ideas like that into her head? For that matter, who the fuck is she even talking to? And when? God knows I can never fucking find her during the day.” 

“I really haven’t seen her around either,” Arat reported. 

“Maybe she heard about your order to cut off Michelle’s finger last week after she lifted one of the bikes to go look for her boyfriend’s body,” Simon responded. “That’s definitely something a psychopath would do.” 

“I said sociopath, shithead, not psychopath!” the leader admonished. 

“Are they really that much different?” his right-hand man quizzed him, holding both of his hands palm up as if he was weighing one psychosis against the other. “Technically a psychopath would be just as likely as a sociopath to cut someone’s finger off, since they both lack empathy and … ” The second in command’s psychology lesson was cut short when he was shoved firmly in the chest with the tip of a barbed wire covered bat. “Woah! Okay, I hear ya, boss!” 

“Fucking sociopath,” he muttered once he was alone with Arat, pissed he’d been given the label. After further thought he changed his mind, reasoning firmly, “You know what? If being a sociopath is what it takes to run this entire fucking place and keep order, then so fucking be it!” 

Knowing better than to answer one way or the other, Arat simply listened to her boss rant, nodding when it was appropriate. 

“And who has she been talking to about Skinny Joe? And why?” He wondered whether Sage had been asking around about him, the man she thought was Skinny Joe. If so, he wanted to know why. 

“Skinny Joe?” Arat questioned, confused as to why the lieutenant had suddenly been brought into the conversation. 

Negan waved off her question, commanding, “See if you can find out where the hell she hides all day. 

“Got it boss.” 

_________ 

After sending Arat off to get intel for him, Negan decided to do a little detective work of his own. Making his way to the storage room full of premium goods reserved for the higher ups in the factory, Negan searched through a box full of toiletries, pulling out a few items he needed before he headed over to warehouse B to see if Sage was in her penthouse yet. 

Climbing the ladder to the roof and crawling through the hatch, he wasn’t surprised she was nowhere to be found. He left a bottle of shampoo and a folded, black knit tank top edged in lace inside the flap of her tent where she would find them when she returned. He wanted to give her a reason to thank him after she had talked shit to him the night before. He knew she needed the shampoo since he had watched her struggle with her empty bottle. The cream-colored tank top she had been wearing under her button up shirt each time he saw her was stained, but still seemed to be her favorite wardrobe item. She was lucky he was generous enough to bring her a new one after she had given him so much grief. 

His walkie talkie suddenly emitted static, and Arat’s voice called for him over the device. “What do you want?” he answered. 

“Come on over to the loading dock, boss. Paper Towel has something he wants to tell you,” his helper informed him. 

___________ 

“What do you want to tell Negan?” Arat questioned the man in front of her when the big boss walked up to the threesome next to warehouse A. The red headed man was sitting on the edge of the loading dock, and the boss’s two right hands where standing in front of him, arms crossed, as if they were blocking him from trying to escape. They could understand why he might want to bolt, knowing the leader was going to go nuts when he heard what PT had to say. 

Named after the red headed mascot for Brawny paper towels, Negan had originally thought about calling the forty something year old resident Brawny. He was a shorter, thinner version of the mascot, however, so the masculine name didn’t make sense. Still, he was the spitting image of the original mustached ginger on the package, so Paper Towel was the next best option. Everyone called him PT for short. “Yeah, what’s up, asshole?” Negan knew by the nature of Arat’s message the man had something to share which would not please him. His charge never delivered third party bad news herself. She always insisted the person involved confess to the boss directly. He couldn’t blame her. He knew he could be a total dick when he got pissed off. Her method of interrogation saved her from taking the brunt of his anger. 

The man fidgeted where he sat, finally looking the big boss in the eye when he informed him, “I know why you haven’t seen that new woman Sage around here during the day. She’s been going outside of the compound to scavenge.” 

Knowing there had to be more to the story since Arat had avoided telling him the news herself, Negan raised an eyebrow at him, swinging Lucille at his side to make her presence known. Paper Towel squirmed some more, his gaze flitting away from his boss’s when he added, “She might have been let in and out of the gate in exchange for some of the stuff she brought back.” 

“Might have been?” the leader repeated dramatically, knowing where the confession was headed. PT worked guard duty at the south gate from four in the morning until noon. The southern exit was the less busy of the two on the property. “What kind of shit did she give you?” 

The man stared at him for several seconds, afraid to get himself in deeper trouble. He knew he was in deep shit. He just didn’t know how deep. “I … uh …” he stammered, trying to buy himself some time while he tried to figure out an answer which might appease the man in charge. 

Before he could formulate his response, Negan swung Lucille lightly, catching the man in the side of the head and knocking him off his perch. Landing on the ground four feet below, Paper Towel clutched the side of his bleeding head, strangely thrilled to find it intact. He wondered if it would remain that way. “Food! And a … a pair of shoes ...some chewing tobacco,” he listed off, groaning in pain as he lay on his side on the ground. 

“Don’t forget this!” Simon reminded him enthusiastically, pulling a folded magazine out of his pocket and handing it over to his boss. 

Tucking his bat under his arm, Negan unfolded the periodical, taking in the man on the cover dressed only in black studded leather pants, holding a coiled whip in his fist. “So this is how you fly, Paper Towel?” He held the magazine cover over the man so he could see it. “You ever fuck around with Keno?” he couldn’t help but inquire. 

“What?” 

“Never mind.” The boss folded the magazine and threw it at him with force, watching it bounce off the man’s hip and hit the ground. “Get up!” He watched the asshole drag himself up onto his feet, groaning as he clenched his eyes shut at a surge of head pain from the sudden movement. 

Putting his arm around the injured man’s shoulder, Negan started walking him towards the Factory. “Let’s go have Doc Carson look you over. You can fill me in on the details of your little deal with Doctor Grayson while we walk!” he ordered menacingly, swinging Lucille in circles at his opposite side as a reminder of what would happen if information wasn’t forthcoming. 

“Okay?” the man half questioned more than stated, surprised he would be patched up. 

Paper Towel was surprised his ass hadn't been pulverized or immediately thrown into a cell for his infraction. The reprieve was almost too good to be true. What he didn’t realize was he would be pummeled and thrown into one of the lightless six by six rooms as soon as he had served his boss's purpose. 

__________ 

“Good morning, Steve!” Sage called to the guard on duty as she rode up to the gate on Squishy and stopped, waiting for him to roll the gate open for her. 

Negan was interested to find out Paper Towel’s real name was Steve. It was four thirty in the morning and he yawned as he stood inside of a door on the factory’s main floor, a spot which was close to the south gate. He had propped the door open three inches with the toe of his boot and was watching and listening to the exchange between the guard and the sneaky as fuck doctor, his task made more difficult in the dark of night. When he had questioned PT further, the man had revealed Sage had made a trip outside the factory’s grounds every night he was posted on watch. Negan had threatened the guard’s life should he let on to the woman the big boss was aware of her comings and goings. 

After hearing the confession, the leader spent the next few weeks investigating exactly what Sage did when she left. She only left the property and returned on Paper Towel’s watch, as Negan had expected. Initially she came and went on foot. Once Squishy’s leg was sufficiently healed, she rode the mare. She always left after four in the morning, under the cover of darkness. Each time she left she simply greeted the guard and waved as she passed by. When she returned the next day around the same time, she would stop and chat with PT for a few minutes. Negan had to admit the man was quite the actor, never letting on their asses would be grass the minute his boss put a halt to her adventures. They would talk and laugh while Sage pulled two or three items out of the knapsack she carried on her back, handing them over to her cohort in crime. 

Once she trotted off to the garage, Paper Towel would hand over the items to Negan, who claimed them as his own. He received a snazzy new pearl handled straight razor and some shaving soap, two new packs of boxer briefs which were a bit snug on him and made his package look huge, and an old iPhone loaded with what turned out to be some great heavy metal and classic rock. There had also been some gourmet chocolates which must have been kept in a nice cool, dry basement somewhere because they were tasty as all fucking get out. He had been kind enough to share some of the confections with Betsy after she had given up anal sex without making him beg for hours. 

“Ask her to look out for some fucking coffee,” he had instructed Paper Towel after looking over Sage’s latest offerings. “I would kill for a good fucking cup of coffee.” He missed living in a world which offered an operating Starbucks on every corner. Coffee was fucking life, in his mind, and his quality of life had been majorly compromised when the world had ended. He and his men had checked out every coffee shop within a 30-mile radius of the Sanctuary. Apparently, he wasn’t the only apocalypse survivor who needed their morning java. Coffee was hard to come by. He had built up a decent stash of dark roast, but it had dwindled quickly, leaving him with blonde roast, and eventually the cases of useless decaf which he now drank begrudgingly. 

Negan found out during his sleuthing, on PT’s days off Sage would wander the market in the evening, trading goods from her stash for items sold by his people. He had been told she had acquired home canned vegetables which had been grown in gardens on the grounds, kitchen items such as paring knives and dishes, and clothing. It was as if she was setting up house somewhere and was stocking up on essentials. 

The leader also found out, on the days Paper Towel didn’t work Sage liked to shack up with one of the factory’s male residents. In the short time she had been living at the Sanctuary she had spent several nights with Keno, and two nights with Fabio. He found out by chance, when he overheard Fabio and Keno comparing notes on the woman’s blow job. 

“...and she did this thing with her tongue...” 

“In the slit?" Fabio finished Keno’s sentence, awe in his voice. 

“Yes! Fucking amazing!” 

“No kidding, man!” Fabio agreed. 

Both men had been quite contrite when their boss had walked up behind them, smacking them both forcefully on the back of the head and reminding them, “A gentlemen doesn’t fucking kiss and tell, unless they wanna fucking tango with Lucille!” For emphasis he had added, “Have some fucking class you goddamn shit heels.” 

When he’d thought about it later, Negan was sorry he had issued the warning, since it would leave him with no way of knowing what the sex addict was up to. As pissed as he was about the fact she had practically slept with every other man but him in a very short time, he admired the woman for letting go of archaic societal norms once the world turned. Or maybe she had always been an easy mark. Who the fuck knew? What he did know was he needed to experience the thing with her tongue in the slit. 

After a time, Sage started riding off the property with a bag or two draped over Squishy’s hips or packed in her red wagon. After watching her carry a few loads of goods off the property, Negan’s curiosity got the best of him and he decided to follow her on one of her journeys. Knowing he needed to be as quiet as possible, yet also keep up with the horse if she decided to gallop, he chose to ride a ten-speed bike. He made sure to keep just enough distance to see in the dark, and then moved further back once the sun rose. 

Doctor Grayson was either confident nothing would come at her from the direction of the Sanctuary or she assumed any humans or roamers who approached her would make some sort of noise. She never looked behind herself once she was on her way. She was obviously a smart woman, yet some of her actions suggested she was slightly bat shit, as he had witnessed on the day he had met her. Disregarding the need for hyper vigilance outside the compound was one of her more serious bat shit moves. 

Each time she left the property she traveled to the same place; a small, red brick building in the historic district of Alexandria, two blocks from the water. The three-story building contained a post office on the first floor and had a sign for _Joseph Stein, Tax Accountant_ on the second floor. He wondered what the fuck she found so interesting about the place. When he tailed her to the same spot for a third time, he decided to come back on PT’s next night off to find out what Sage was doing when she disappeared inside for hours. 

When he returned a few days later he drove his Charger, parking it in an alley a few blocks away and walking to the post office. Should someone come up the street, he didn’t want to announce his presence with his car at the curb. His parking spot would hopefully allow him to hear or see any activity before it was on top of him. 

As it had been the first three times he’d been there, the front door of the post office was open. Stepping inside, he found the interior had been ransacked. The thick layer of dust and dirt on every surface indicated the pillage had happened long ago. When he tried the door to the sorting area at the back of the main room, he found it locked. There were no stairs in sight to the upper floors. 

Negan made his way outside and around to the rear of the building where he had seen Sage come and go. There were two roll up doors on the back wall, just large enough for the typical small neighborhood postal trucks to fit through. One white, red and blue vehicle was parked with its nose against the right-hand door. The unobstructed door rolled only a few feet up at his prompting, so he crawled underneath it. Looking around, he spotted a half a plastic drum in one corner and a large, empty plastic storage bin next to it. Along the opposite wall, blocked by another small truck were a half a dozen bales of hay. The set up was identical to bay one in the garage at the factory, Negan realized. When he took a second look around, he spied a homemade rig on the inside of the bay door he had crawled under, which stopped the door from rising any higher than a few feet. He studied the contraption, trying to figure out why it had been put in place. Was it some sort of deterrent? It was a pain in the ass to crawl underneath the door and wouldn’t be worth the effort if he didn’t have a specific interest in what was inside the space. 

A door connecting the garage to the postal store front was locked. Since there was no way in or out other than under the door, he slithered back outside, heading up the stairs to the exterior door on the second floor. Again, the door to the interior was partially open. His brain finally pieced together the open doors were cues that the spaces had been visited before but were now abandoned. The visual clue would make it very unlikely anyone would bother to check the white-collar business office for anything useful, since it wasn't likely to have had anything worthwhile before it had initially been searched, let alone after. 

The leader was beginning to catch on to Sages ploy, realizing she had more common sense than he had given her credit for. Exploring the reception area inside the door, he found the desk just as it had been left by the administrative assistant the last day they worked before the world had gone to hell. Formal, typed letters and some tax documents were stacked neatly on its surface. Dean Morgan had been due a refund of eight thousand, five hundred and seventeen dollars and thirty-two cents. Negan thought it was a bummer the man never got to spend the money. 

Opening the door to the office, Negan found it had been cleaned and revamped recently, the furniture moved and repurposed. The modern, glass top desk had been moved against a wall, and two chairs had been pulled up to the piece of furniture as if it were a dining table. There was a comfortable looking couch and chair on one side of the room, along with a coffee table and end table. 

A quick sweep of the room and the furniture’s drawers revealed Sage had been filling them with the goods Squishy had carried over from the factory bit by bit. The doctor was setting up house in the abandoned building. The second-floor office would act as an apartment and first floor garage space would house her horse. 

A door on one wall of the new living space led to a good sized, walk in closet. There were empty metal shelves along one wall and kitchen cabinets with a sink along the opposite wall, a coffee maker and microwave on the countertop. The cupboards housed dry goods and other essential items. Negan recognized some wares he had seen on the trading tables at the Sanctuary’s market. 

He finally made his way to the third floor, finding it empty other than some items stacked in a far corner. The floor was hard wood, the rafters exposed. There were three large windows along the front wall which were boarded up with fresh wood, indicating Sage was the project’s carpenter. The slats were spaced far enough apart one could see up and down the street easily. He could see why Sage had chosen the three-story building to call her own. The rest of the store fronts along the historic district’s block were one or two stories. The third story windows afforded her a view of anything or anyone coming up or down the street. He also found a ladder leading to the roof, which granted a sweeping view of the street and the back of the property and the abandoned residential area beyond. 

He was agitated Sage was still planning on leaving. When he turned to leave, he noted another rigging on the inside of the door, attached to the wall above and beside the door frame. He had seen one on the second floor as well. A booby trap? Some sort of security device? He wasn’t sure, since it wasn’t complete. After checking out her set up, he had a new appreciation for Doctor Grayson. She was a shrewd fucker. Leaving everything exactly as he had found it, he left the building, making his way to his car to head back to the factory. 

Negan stewed about Sage for the entire trip, wondering why she was so fucking hyped to get away from the Sanctuary. He also pondered why he gave a flying fuck. Determined to find out the answer to both questions, he formulated a plan to make getting to know her a bit easier. 


	5. Life's Been Busy

Hello all:

I wanted to check in and let you know I am working on the next chapter of this story. Life has been busy, and I'm trying to finish up my other work in progress, so I have had little time to devote to this story. I am working on it though, so I hope you will stay tuned for the next chapter! XOXO, C


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